Our Kitten
by ShonenAiSorcerer
Summary: Aya has a kitten to pet; Yohji's more concerned with petting Aya. Who's claws will come out first? Yohji/Aya rating currently for language and shounen ai
1. Chapter 1

Our Kitten

* * *

Author's Note: It's been a while, but I'm falling back into this a little at a time. This is my first fic in over two years, wow. Please forgive what needs to be forgiven, oh, except the yaoi, that I offer no apologies for!

Current warnings: yaoi (boy on boy sans-clothes goodness), language, a bit o' fluff, and slight warping of time line.

Expect the rating to climb, it's inevitable really.

Current and anticipated pairings: Y/A

Disclaimer: The Weiss boys are not mine, and I make no money from them or their yaoi-infused antics.

* * *

Chapter One: Picking Up

* * *

He resisted the urge, strong and demanding, to slam the steel door behind him; the muscles in his arm twitched in protest as he closed it carefully against the frame and stepped out onto the tiny square of concrete with its one, low concrete step that was the back stoop of the Koneko. The Wednesday afternoon was dull and dark, humid with recent rain and threatening more with low layers of gray-blue clouds. Even with the recent shower, the place smelled strongly of stale cigarette smoke and greenhouse mulch, but he took a deep breath anyway. Gingerly, he wiped his damp hands on the front of his green apron, having hurriedly handed over his watering task to Yohji in the face of the incoming flood of schoolgirls for a few moments of escape before he had to deal with them. The others had let him go; when Aya said he had a headache, being one hand short for a few minutes was a prerequisite for those girls keeping all their hands for the rest of their lives.

Aya took another breath, feeling the pain in his skull mellowing into a dull throb that he could deal with. Ready to return to what he knew was growing chaos, he had his hand on the knob when a soft sound caught his attention. He paused, still, defensive at the unfamiliar, high-pitched squeak. Purple eyes flicked left and right, but the rest of him was suspended as he attempted to identify the possibility of a threat. There it was again, from his left, low to the ground. With almost imperceptible movements, he turned his head towards the sound, unable to see anything beyond the dumpster. The more mundane portions of his brain noted that it was a good thing it was trash day, the overflowing bags of lumpy garden clipping and empty shipment boxes were beginning to get soggy.

There, again.

It was coming from the boxes. Carefully, Aya drew a blade form his back pocket, an item too thin, too sharp, and too dangerous for even him to rationalize as a pocket knife. He carried it at his side, almost against his leg as to not give up any advantage of surprise. Despising the noise made by the long apron as it caught between his knees and hindered proper sneaking, he crept as quietly as possible across the narrow strip of squishing grass. Above the boxes now, he tried to ascertain from which the sound originated, quickly disregarding the tall skinny rose box, but staring down a low, square one that had held Monday's deliver of terra cotta pots.

Aya crouched, face stern and knife pressed against his thigh; his left hand came up cautiously. Never one to hesitate unnecessarily, he grasp the wet flap of the box and flip it back, simultaneously aiming his weapon at the noise-making thing in the box which, upon seeing the shiny steel directed at it, made a much more pitiful sound.

"_Mew_?" The kitten seemed to question the force of will aimed at its tiny self.

Aya was not one to go in for dramatic sighs, but had he been, it would have been a deserving moment. Stowing the knife, he stared at the animal before him. Its short fur appeared black, but there were hints of color that might have been clearer when it wasn't sodden with rain. The redhead pondered how the creature had gotten there; it was clearly too young to have climbed in as it couldn't climb out. Had someone left it there? For what reason? And what was he supposed to do with it?

"Aya!" The exclamation was accompanied by the harsh bang of the backdoor hitting the wall; the kitten jumped and cowered in one corner of the box. Aya turned to glare, not sure why Yohji's startling it made him want to hurt the blond, but fairly sure his instinct was correct. "We could use some help in here!"

Expected a glare or threat of another level that would send him skittering back inside, Yohji was surprised by the nod he received as Aya stood and wiped the dirt from his knees. Glad, but confused by the compliance, Yohji gave his own nod and went back inside.

About to leave it, Aya took only one step before turning back to the box. The kitten shook as it huddled there, forcing him to think of more than one dark and wet corner he had crouched in. This time Aya did give in to a sigh, though just a little one, as he leant down to pick up the box. Balancing it on his arm so the bottom wouldn't drop out, he toted it into the back room and placed it under the table where it could stay until his shift was over. As a last thought, he pulled two old cleaning rags from the shelf and dropped them into the box for the kitten to curl up on. Then he went back to work.

* * *

Yohji pushed the sunglasses up on his forehead, looking to Aya just to make sure he'd heard right.

"Huh?" Yes, he knew, it wasn't the most elegant way to ask someone to repeat themselves, but he has lost 'beg your pardon' somewhere between Aya speaking to him willingly and Aya offering to do his work. And Yohji hadn't begged anywhere in there! Complained yes, begged no.

Refusing to repeat himself, Aya set about closing shop. Yohji watched him pull down the heavy metal shutters and then, as he was told, went on in the house to enjoy the free hour he had been given. But it was very difficult to do. Omi sat at the kitchen table with his homework and watched the blond wander the room. Yohji opened the fridge and closed it, opened one cabinet, then another, and closed both. Finding he couldn't sit without bouncing his leg, he stood again, scooting his chair idly before leaning on it. He tapped his fingers along the stove and investigated the crumbs in the toaster. Returning to the refrigerator, he took out a beer, looked at it, and put it back. Shuffling the contents with his right hand, he drummed the fingers of his left against the door.

"Yohji!"

He shut the fridge. Omi sighed. Yohji left him to his work.

Not sure what to do with himself or why he was so frazzled to begin with, Yohji chalked to up to the unexpected change to his routine (and assumptions about the world) and returned to the shop to set it right. He would clean; Aya would glare at him; and all would be right with the world. Unfortunately for his seemingly infallible plan, the shop he returned to was in no need of his assistance. The pots were inside, the register was counted, and Aya's workstation was, as always, as neat and tidy as a Martha Stewart advertisement.

"It's a good thing," Yohji murmured to himself as he ran a hand over the clean surface, coming away with not even a stray piece of leaf or speck of dust. Having concluded that Aya had efficiently dispensed of tasks that took Yohji over an hour and then returned to his hermitage of a room, the blond heard shuffling from the back room. The smile that came easily to his face was, he admitted, based on the fact that Aya was not so inhumanly efficient; however, as Yohji tilted his head to listen, he couldn't quite place what task required the scooting sound, the opening of a drawer, and then the creak of the older work table of the back room. What was Aya doing?

Nosy, and intrigued by the irrational idea of Aya climbing on the table to change the lightbulb and thereby stretching up enough to let Yohji stare up that orange sweater just a bit (not that the gods were kind enough to let that happen twice in a lifetime), Yohji had to go see.

Opening the door with all the stealth he could muster on a rainy afternoon, Yohji stood for a moment and wondered just what the hell he was seeing. Aya was sitting cross-legged on the wooden table so as Yohji viewed him in profile, but he was fussing with…something in his lap. Ideas of something much more forbidden than lightbulb changing tempted the blonde's mind, but then he saw something…furry…

"Aya?"

Sharp eyes flicked up to meet his, more impassive than angry. Yohji took that as an invitation to walk over. Several white cloths were piled in the nest created by Aya's crossed legs, and it was in these that his hands were tangled, holding.

"What are you—"

"_Mew_."

Reaching down into a region long marked 'enter at your own risk,' Yohji flicked back one of the towels to reveal a small, dark furball. Seeing him, it pressed itself against Aya's hand, arched its back, and hissed. Well, it wasn't so much of a hiss as a silent spitting, but Yohji got the idea. He was not welcome.

Expecting the same expression on Aya's face, Yohji was surprised at the reality. Admittedly, far from open compassion, it was a recognizable variation of the normal glare; it was the glare Aya gave right after he had done something one of the others was likely to make fun of. After he revealed he could cook, after he had to wear those latex pants for that mission, after he gave the elderly Mrs. Cromby her weekly free flowers for her beloved dog's grave, he expected grief from the others, and especially Yohji. To the blonde, it was a way to initiate conversation, a form of male bonding, but looking at that gaze that told him 'go ahead and then fuck off' as its owners hands gently, so gently patted water from the tiny kitten's fur, gave Yohji significant pause.

"Uh…"

"Out."

The word, often repeated, seemed to have lost all meaning between them. Removing his hand from its precarious position, Yohji settled himself carefully on the creaking table, letting his long legs dangle over the edge, right thigh just touching Aya's knee as they both looked back to the kitten. No longer hissing, it seemed to be waiting patiently as Aya dabbed its fur.

"Where'd you get it?"

"Outside."

"Does it belong to somebody?"

Aya just shook his head, gesturing to the box he found it in.

"Are you gonna keep it?"

Never one to be indecisive, Aya gave an answer he had not planned, "Yes."

"Cool." Reaching out a single finger, Yohji jerked it back as the kitten again made its hissing noise, now a little stronger. He could have sworn there was the barest hint of a smile of Aya's lips then, but it could have just been a trick of the dim lighting. There were a few minutes of silence.

"Maybe I shouldn't?"

"What? Keep it? Why not?"

Ah, that was the 'you can't really be that dumb, can you' glare. But Yohji remembered that ghost of a smile moments before, and so he took it upon himself to defend what he was already calling the fluffball's place in the house.

"I'll help ya' take care of it. We'll make it work. It'll be our kitten." Yohji's mind congratulated him loudly on that one. A project with Aya.

"Our kitten…"

"Sure. Why the hell not?"

* * *

The arrival of the kitten to the kitchen table was met with surprise and a gushing of cooing. The former was caused by the fact that it was carried inside cupped in Aya's hands and, having been situated on a dish towel, was not released from them. The latter was just Omi. He made over it extensively, fully invading Aya's carefully marked personal space by leaning over his shoulder while he sat at the table. When, however, he took it upon himself to pet the cat, it raised its head to hiss at him vehemently.

"He's scared," Omi excused. Then, as an afterthought, "Is it a he or a she?"

Aya shrugged.

Yohji held out his hand for the kitten. After a second of evaluation, Aya gently placed it in his palm where it fit easily. The kitten twisted uncomfortably, hissing, as Yohji took it around the middle and turned it backwards as he lifted it up to eye level. Using his other hand to lift its tail, he proclaimed the fact: "Girl."

Safely back with Aya, the kitten bristled at the indignity, as, apparently, did Aya. Yohji shrugged, and Aya thought it a fitting moment to ask, not without retaliatory tones, if he checked all his dates that way.

"Only the really tall ones."

Aya snorted.

"She's very thin," Omi deftly changed the subject.

"Ah."

"Needs food," Yohji contributed, simultaneously being glared into putting away his cigarettes before he managed to light one.

"Milk?" Omi was already opening the fridge when Aya's quiet voice stopped him.

"She's too young for just milk. She can't be over a month old, eyes just open. She needs," he seemed to think for a second, as if recalling something long unused, "formula."

"Where do we get that?"

"I can make it." Omi lifted at eyebrow at Yohji, unseen, of course, by Aya.

"Okay, what's in it?"

Kitten cradled in his left arm, Aya took a sheet off the always-unused grocery list pad on the fridge. Yohji held out his hands for the kitten, but was ignored. Taking the pen Omi offered, Aya made a brief list and handed it summarily to the blond.

"Me?"

"I'll go," Omi volunteered, even though the sky threatened rain.

"Nah," Yohji took the list, "I got it." Goaded into chivalry and action, two things Yohji was fairly sure he hated, he picked up his keys and went to the store to get food for their kitten.

~tbc~

Author's Note: I think I'm just kind of wandering around here, but there's a plot, I'm sure of it, just gotta stay outta that deliciously tempting lemon orchard over there. Please review, it keeps the pen moving. Oh, and flames will be sent to freezing criminals in Siberia; they appreciate your kindness.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: I'm not sure I ran the cliché off just yet, but I think if I keep poking at it with Aya's sword it'll move on out eventually. I want to thank all of you who are reading, and especially Cody-san! I'm so happy to hear from you! I want to dedicate this chapter to Cody Thomas for being one of the most kind and dedicated readers in world. Hope you enjoy it (and I promise to dedicate a more skillful, more lemony chapter later, too).

* * *

Our Kitten

Chapter Two: Going Out

* * *

Yohji shook out his damp hair and snagged the brown paper bag from the passenger seat of the Seven. It had taken longer than he had anticipated locating a few specific items, pushing into his scheduled time of careful cultivation of sexiness prior to unleashing it on the club-going public. Thankfully, though, the rain gave him a tousled look that would work well enough if he decided to go with it.

Slipping inside, he easily toed off his shoes and went to set the bag on the kitchen table. Omi was still occupying the common space, but he promised he was nearly done and directed Yohji to the living room to find Aya. Yohji's mind went instantly into overdrive, imagining the most adorable scene: the kitten would be nestled up close to Aya's neck, his pale skin contrasting beautifully next to its dark fur, and the assassin would be curled up near the end of the sofa, cat-like himself, with sock feet tucked near his body and hand just-touching—

His actual entrance into the room threatened to be a disappointment, but the calm look in purple eyes made up for the lack of cuteness, well, almost. The kitten was indeed curled in Aya's arm, nestled against his stomach with the length of her little body pressed into his sweater. He had been watching her, thinking, before his stare shifted to Yohji, not quite having time to shift his stare into its usual hardness. But the change happened soon enough.

"Got the stuff," he pointed towards the kitchen.

Aya nodded, then as an afterthought, "Thank you."

"Welcome."

* * *

Having swapped his low-cut jeans for the lower-cut ones that had rips in just the right places, Yohji checked his appearance in the mirror. Not as decadent as usual, but hot. That would work. It was only Wednesday after all. Undoing another button on his tight polo shirt, he grabbed his shades and headed out.

On route through the kitchen, Yohji ran smack into the cuteness that had eluded him before. Standing at the counter, Aya was attempting to manage a disgruntled kitten, a ceramic mug, and a little eyedropper. Bent over the counter, the last of these he was trying to get the animal to drink from, with some difficulty it seemed, as yet another dribble of the sticky white liquid fell over his fingers.

Yohji didn't try very hard to keep his mind out of the gutter; it rather liked the neighborhood.

Determined as always, Aya slipped the dropper into the mug—a warm mix of milk, eggs, and syrup he asserted would assure the kitten's recovery— again and shifted, just slightly, the loose hold his left hand had around the kitten's middle. When the dropper came again, she reached toward it, but feeling the hard plastic in her mouth, attempted to pull back. Liquid spilled again, but the kitten licked hungrily at the few drops that clung around her mouth.

Picking up a dish towel, Yohji handed it to Aya who looked rather displeased at the fact the blonde was watching him. The kitten looked up at him too, mouth and face and fur wet with food; she hissed. Deciding there were other, friendlier places he could be, Yohji left.

* * *

Either the sun had turned suddenly malicious and was trying to burn his brain right out of his skull, or Yohji had a hangover. Opening his resistant eyelids to half-mast, he observed his own arm, thrown haphazardly in front of his face as he slept on his stomach near the edge of the bed. Slowly, he took morning evaluation of his state. The body seemed intact, desperately begging to be taken to the bathroom, but not making any major complaints beyond that. The eyes ached at the light, and the mouth tasted bad, somewhere between really good cheese and really bad roadkill. Gross.

Levering himself into a sitting position, Yohji shoved his sunglasses on his nose and fished a cigarette from his jeans pocket. Said jeans were lying crumpled on the floor, and Yohji's non-existent modesty was protected only by a chance corner of the bed sheet. This fell loose as he stood and stretched his long, leans arms skyward, looking graceful and strong and not the least bit what he felt like.

Grabbing a new pair of jeans from the closet, he didn't bother to put them on before heading for the shower.

One outraged Ken, two Tylenol, and three cigarettes later, Yohji deemed himself ready for his shift; he was only thirty minutes late.

Aya glared at him as he entered the shop. Yohji smiled in return, dropping the blue apron round his neck and reaching easily to tie a sloppy bow in the back.

"Morning, Aya."

Aya failed to reply, but his poignant glance at the clock on the wall informed Yohji that he was aware that it was well past any hour that might pass for 'morning.' With a shrug, Yohji took over the stool behind the register; propping one elbow on the counter, he dropped his head into his hand, affected a blank stare that suggested he was too lost in thought to even perceive what his eyes were aimed at, and began his daily round of Aya watching. This activity was scheduled to last until the younger man yelled at him, but, Yohji noted with satisfaction that threatened to be disappointment, those chastisings were usually based on his lack of productive activity rather than any apparent personal trespass.

An intricate arrangement of salmon roses and baby's breath sat to Aya's right, and its elegant twin was taking shape before him. Carefully he selected specimen from the row of roses set to his left, snipping them deftly with the clippers before placing them into the large, glass vase. With the vase growing full, its tall container of blooms now close to obstructing Aya's entire face from Yohji's view, the blonde was grateful when the other stood to stare at the flowers from a new direction. With three precise adjustments of lowers and greenery, what had been pretty become artistically pleasing.

There was no nod of satisfaction. Aya's only acknowledgement of the excellent work was to set the two in the refrigerated display case for later delivery. Yohji stared at the redhead's back, thinking that had he gone to equal trouble, he would have probably demanded some kind of recognition, probably by shoving the arrangements under Aya's nose until he commented upon them, at least to make a correction. He had just about built himself up to offering his friend a compliment when Aya spoke.

"I'm taking a ten minute break. Okay?"

"Uh, sure." Yohji blinked. That was new. Aya usually saved his breaks for the afternoon rush, and his leaving was always preceded by either complete silence (when he simply disappeared) or barely restrained anger (when he announced his break with the unspoken threat to do bodily harm to anyone stupid enough to deny him).

"Don't leave," he warned as he walked out the shop door and back toward the house.

A second passed before Yohji realized what he had said.

"I'm not an idiot, Aya!" It was only when he had half-risen to follow and protest that Yohji had to stop and reconsider. With a sigh, he shoved his hands in his pockets and went to investigate Aya's workstation. Why the mid-afternoon break? Had all Yohji's staring finally gotten to the man? There had been no tell-tale blushes, not even an angry glare, and certainly no come-hither stares. Yohji would have noticed come-hither stares. Maybe Aya wasn't feeling well; he had once taken a break early when he pulled out three of his stitches moving the oversized clay pot that contained the unsellable lemon tree. Or maybe he was trying to mess with Yohji's head by interrupting the usual schedule of their interactions, maybe it was a complex revenge for some act of insolence the blonde didn't even remember.

Maybe he just had to pee, the unimaginative part of his brain suggested. Yohji snorted at it.

Aya returned without comment. He checked the arrangement list, and finding its short mid-week assignments complete, set about completing other shop chores that fell to whomever wasn't particularly busy. By one, he had washed the windows, swept the floor, and reorganized the displays; Yohji had even been guilted by all his work into watering the hanging ferns.

Then they sat.

"Aya?"

". . ."

"I'm bored."

"…"

"Aya?"

Not even a 'what.' Yohji realized he was losing ground, or, more precisely, he was attempting to play a different game. An expert at contending with Aya in whine-until-you-piss-him-off and a formidable opponent in don't-get-hit-opoly, Yohji had recently refigured his tactics in order to beat friend-to-lover taboo. Mentally he had marked whine, beg, tease, poke, and provoke off his list of acceptable approaches (though poke was readmitted shortly thereafter in a slightly different context).

Of course, today Yohji had card up his sleeve.

"We should bring the kitten in here," he suggested, lightly, tracing the edge of the cash register with one finger and not-staring at Aya.

"Why?"

Aware that the request was unlikely to be met for his own benefit, Yohji took another path, "She's probably lonely."

Violet eyes were trained on him, the expression strangely void of irritation, allowing the blonde to read the question there. It caught him off guard, being able to read Aya so easily after so many failed attempts of great effort, but Yohji refused to get caught up in it when his plan was going so well.

"Think about it. She's been up there…in your room," he guessed, "all alone all day long." He wasn't sure if any of this was making a dent. "You probably ought to check on her, at least."

Perhaps guilt wasn't the way to go. The new look was almost defensive, and then the stoic glare was back.

"I fed her at lunch."

Ah, so that explained the break. So simple; how could he have missed it? Well, no one expected Aya Fujimiya to feed kittens after all.

* * *

His previous attempt to bond with Aya via the kitten having failed, Yohji took consolation in the fact that he had at least engaged the other man in tentative conversation that had not resulted in either yelling or physical harm to his own handsome person. He considered that progress. And he was determined to make more. Admittedly, this would probably require yet another rarely practiced action which Yohji despised: sacrifice.

~tbc~

Author's Note: Hm…what shall Yohji sacrifice? Will he ever get to pet the kitten? Will the author even name the poor thing? Please review; reviews make starving artists happy, and flames are used to cook their ramen.


	3. Chapter 3

Our Kitten

* * *

Author's notes: I think I've ditched part of the cliché, but it's so much fun it's hard to leave it behind, and then it gives me those puppy dog eyes…

* * *

Chapter Three: Staying In

* * *

Yohji had made up his mind to do it: he was going to stay in. It was a Friday night, and he was going to remove his terribly sexy self from the club scene, much, he was sure, to the distraught disappointment of hundreds of women all around the city. With their imagined sighs lingering in his ears, he sat aside his favorite, tight leather ensemble and changed into a pair of soft, light blue pants and simple white tee. Still, he thought with a glance in the mirror, he did look sexy. Couldn't change that.

About to go find Aya and put his newly developed sense of self-denial on display, Yohji was interrupted by a knock on the door. The swordsman entered before he could answer.

Yohji's eyes narrowed; Aya was in his mission gear.

Damn.

"You're not going out."

"But, Aya!" The protest was on his lips before his brain had time to process. That was just the way things worked: Aya said no, Yohji resisted.

"I have to go. You watch the kitten."

A piece of paper was shoved at him. Taking it with caution, he found it full of Aya's neat script, a complete run-down of how to care for the kitten, in unnecessary detail.

"She has to be fed every five hours," he glared, "Every five hours, Kudou."

"Yeah, yeah."

Aya stood silently and stared him down, clearly evaluating Yohji's competence with cold calculation. The blonde realized that with the mission fast approaching that it was more Abyssinian than Aya standing in his doorway, coat and blade and rigid shoulders silhouetted by the light of the hall. Yohji knew he was witnessing the process of stripping away, leaving behind everything that as their lives, separating oneself from mundane existence to become the other who killed.

But Aya had remembered the kitten.

Still, Abyssinian couldn't afford to think about it.

So he had the note. Well played, Yohji thought. Still, he was under no illusion that he would not face the other man's wrath should he fail to complete his task with proper accuracy. He was scanning the list quickly, making sure there were no questions, even as Aya turned away to leave.

Yohji caught him just in time to inquire, "Aya, where's the kitten?"

The look he received as Aya turned in the hall to regard him was somewhere between exasperation and direct threat, "In my room."

Yohji stared after him as the redhead left, mind heavy with ideas about what they left behind at night.

But he was not one to dwell on these things for long. Brooding was Aya's gig, after all. Glancing down at the paper, a smile spread across the blonde's face, a smirking, mischievous smile.

He had just been given permission to go in Aya's room.

Alone.

* * *

The room was neat, even annoyingly tidy in its contrast to Yohji's sloppy housekeeping. It was somewhat sparse, but not inhumanly so as he had expected. There was the chest of drawers with its empty katana stand, a desk with a few papers stacked in one corner, and a bookshelf, quite full. But there was also a soft leather chair near the window, a couple small pictures in wooden frames, and a fairly impressive stereo on the floor next to the bed. The bed itself, though, was completely Aya—cream colored duvet, white pillow cases, all looking perfectly starched and wrinkle free.

Yohji's first thought was to jump in the middle of it, twist up all the sheets, and masturbate as he thought about what Aya might have done there.

He sat down on it instead. Pulling his long legs up and crossing them in front of him, Yohji studied the list. It really was unnecessarily detailed; Aya had not only informed him how long to heat the kitten's food, but that the food was, in fact, located in the refrigerator. There was even a time schedule. Did the guy honestly expect him—

A soft mewling interrupted his approaching tirade.

Right. The kitten.

Listening closely and scanning the room, Yohji quickly located the animal. On the left side of the bed, directly in front of the nightstand, was a box from the shop. Laying back and rolling over to lean over the edge of the bed, Yohji looked down into the box. One of the white bathroom towels was folded into the bottom, and a hot water bottle wrapped in a washcloth rested against one edge. The kitten was backed up against this, glaring up at Yohji with blue eyes that seemed especially uneasy.

"Sorry," he told her, "you're gonna have to make do with me tonight."

Scooping her up in his hand, Yohji reclined against the pillows and rested the kitten on his chest.

She was tiny, really no bigger than his hand which she was currently trying to nuzzle with her little black nose. He stroked her fur with a single finger; it was long, and Yohji thought it would probably stay that way. That first day he had suspected she wasn't solid black, and upon closer inspection, he could see subtle spots of orange and even a bit of gray mixed in, and beside her eyes, two streaks of deep orange-red ran back on either side.

"Exotic looking, aren't you?"

The kitten mewled in return, still rooting at his hand as he rested it beside her.

"No, no food there. Besides, Aya says you don't get fed until," he lifted the paper so he could read it without sitting up completely, "ten."

"_Mew_?"

"Uh-uh. Don't give me that look. If Aya was here, you'd be hissing at me. He probably would be too.

"You know what, you and him and a whole lot alike, little creature."

The appellation hardly seemed fitting, and Yohji decided that the kitten needed a name. After all, he certainly wouldn't like being called _man_ or _florist_ wherever he went.

"What's your name little lady?" he questioned as the kitten decided that if it wasn't going to get food, it should at least glare at him. "I suppose we could call you Aya.

"That'd probably be confusing. We already have Aya and Aya-chan, you know. You haven't met her yet; she lives in England right now. Don't tell Aya, but I think it's a damn good thing.

"You're a much better girl, aren't you? No bitching about my smoking from you." The kitten chose that moment to hiss at him as Yohji's stroking finger apparently touched a spot she didn't favor.

"Damn but you're temperamental. How about Abyssinian? Maybe Abby for short? Or something more fun, maybe Dominatrix or Mistress." He chuckled at the mental image of Aya roaming the house calling out for the kitten, instantly deciding it should be something naughty that could still pass for a name.

"If you were white, we could call you snowball, though Aya probably wouldn't even get that one, would he sweetheart? You and me, we live on the edge; I can tell by looking at that red on your eyes, some flashy makeup for someone your age. Maybe Exhibition would be –

"No, I've got it!"

The kitten looked at him dubiously.

* * *

"Move over, damnit."

It was dark, almost completely so, and Yohji could hear the soft patter of rain against the window. Strong hands were pushing on his back in anything but a gentle manner. Careful of the furry item now struggling in his loose hand, Yohji managed to scoot over about six inches on the bed, which seemed oddly stiff beneath him.

There was a sigh.

"_Mew_. _Meeew_." The thing in his hand cried again, renewing its struggle. Dreading having to fully wake up and deal with it, Yohji was grateful when it was taken away from him. A warm arm retreated from around him, where it had brushed in its reaching, and the noisy, fuzzy thing was gone.

Glad for the quiet and the warm body against his back, Yohji fell again into the sleep he hadn't quite left.

~tbc~

Author's Note: I've noted some glaring errors in the first chapter, and I apologize! I don't tend to work with a beta, and I get too excited and post things after only one or two proof readings. I'll go back and fix them pretty soon, maybe do a little revision now that I have a better sense of where this is heading. Thanks for reading everyone!


	4. Chapter 4

Notes: Sorry it took me so long to update this; I had to pause and reconsider where the plot was going. Anyhow, thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Our Kitten

Chapter Four: Looking Around

* * *

The orange-pink sun slanting through the blinds and into his eyes told him it was too early, and Yohji blinked against it as he hesitantly sat up. Before he could even make a tentative sweep of his hand to find his shades, it occurred to him that he was not in his own room. Not an amateur at waking up in strange places, he cracked his eyes open despite the light and tried to figure what warm, hopefully attractive, body had detained him from his own bed.

While his impulse interpreted it as 'warm body,' his mind labeled it as 'Aya.' The man was curled up on his side, hands tucked protectively close to his body. He had obviously come in exhausted. Ever meticulous in his cleanliness, Aya looked as if he had simply dropped his coat and fallen into the bed. He still had his boots and gloves on, not to mention the fitted black outfit. Worse, there was still blood.

It was streaked across his pale face in long, uneven marks that were beginning to flake off, like it had been halfheartedly wiped when still wet. His boots had left smudged streaks of brownish-red on the sheets, and his hair…it was in thick his hair, binding strands together in thick clumps, staining the pillow case and making him look like he'd been shot in the head, a murder victim from the six o'clock news. Or a suicide.

Yohji's stomach lurched unexpectedly at the sight.

He swallowed hard and took a breath, suppressing bile and the wave of guilt that his body's reaction brought. It wasn't as if Aya was the only one of them to have passed out with a bit of work left clinging.

And it seemed Aya's second guest had none of the reservations Yohji did. Curled snuggly under Aya's chin was the kitten, its tiny chest rising and falling peacefully.

_Maybe I shouldn't?_

Maybe he . . .

Yohji looked at the bloody assassin. He saw the exhaustion and the stains, but Aya's face, relaxed in sleep, with those soft lips open just enough to draw in breath and dark red eyelashes resting on his cheeks made him just so damn…what? What was it?

The kitten moved.

Yohji's philosophical side shut up and gave way to the portion of his brain that wanted to save his life. If Aya woke up to find an infamous playboy lounging in his bed, staring at him in what was a rare lapse of personal cleanliness, said playboy was going to die, or at least lose a few important limbs. Yohji was under no delusion that the fact he had been there first would help him. Kitten in the bed, good; Yohji in the bed, bad.

Bad Yohji.

Trying not to get sidetracked in his early morning mind-wandering, Yohji eased himself out of the bed. It was executed in a way that not even Aya cold find fault with; the blonde was an expert, after all.

* * *

Yohji stared at him; this was nothing new. What was new was the fact that he had a valid reason for doing so that extended beyond his own desire to grab him and strip him naked.

It was a rare occasion, but Yohji had decided to show up, on time, for his morning shift; as he assured Omi, this happened only because he was unable to sleep and was unlikely to be repeated in the next millennium so the world was not, as the younger boy suggested, coming to a dramatic end. Ken, albeit with much less fanfare, had come in, too, ready to cover in the likely event that neither of the older, scheduled members of Weiss happened to show.

With Omi off to school, Ken and Yohji had begun to open shop. Well, Ken began to open shop and Yohji watched him from behind the register, propped on his tall stool with his heels tucked against its lower rung and knees braced against the counter, quite comfortable. He planned to get up in ten minutes, just in time to turn the closed sign to open and welcome in his first fans of the morning. Before this could happen, though, Aya appeared.

Without a word of acknowledgement to either of them, he took his green apron off the hook and adjusted it over his black sweatshirt, carefully arranging the hood of the latter to lay flat over the strings. He tied it efficiently behind his back and surveyed the shop, obviously completing a mental checklist of what had and had, or more likely, had not been done.

Yohji stared, because this was the Aya he encountered on a daily basis. Shock and surprise, he was sure, were not due to this unremarkable event, but the man before him existed in stark contrast to the one he had woken up with, and the two images refused to merge in any cohesive manner. He knew, thanks to Aya's handy-dandy time chart, that he had not drifted off for the second time until sometime after three thirty. His unexpectedly illuminated wakeup call had arrived a little after six. It was now seven fifty, uh, fifty-three. At best, the swordsman had gotten four hours of sleep, and Yohji would bet on significantly less.

The blonde wouldn't have gotten out of his post-mission bed in less than eight, ten if no one threatened to knock down his door or tear off one of his limbs and beat him with it. And Aya had been exhausted, literally, enough to remove any concern about dropping into bed with another man. While Yohji would have loved, and had, in a few delusional moments that morning, to interpret this proximity as a sign of Aya's trust (and blossoming attraction, inserted the fangirl-influenced, hopelessly romantic portion of his brain), reality was that the swordsman had to be on the verge of collapsing.

Now, there was nothing, no trace.

Maybe he should take this as a good sign, an indication of his teammate's rapid recovery, but to Yohji, it spoke of his own inability to read the redhead. If hadn't been witness to the night before, he doubted he would have notice anything out of the ordinary. It hinted at other mornings and other things he had failed to see.

It was only then that he realized it: seeing Aya in his bed, bloody, strange, exhausted innocence written all over his face—that had been the first time Yohji had really seen him.

He wondered what Aya would look like when he got lost in sexual pleasure, when he gave up, screamed Yohji's name, and came. Somehow, he thought it would be the same, that vulnerable visibility that Yohji craved.

The blind was up now, all ice and haughty anger. The thing was, Yohji knew the trick. He had seen the magician holding the strings, and the magic was gone.

Caught up in his own reflection, he missed Aya's gruff command to hand him the order sheets. Not likely to repeat himself, the redhead stalked over and, reaching in front of Yohji, precariously between the blonde's spread knees, he grabbed the messy stack of papers. Not bothering to step out of Yohji's personal space, he stood and began to sort through the hastily scribbled sheets.

Yohji, recovering relatively quickly from a circular thought pattern that ran along the lines of Aya, his closeness, and that fantastically mundane reach around the blonde's person, turned to observe the redhead, trying to pick out the signs he knew should be there, that he had just convinced himself he could observe. But besides the light, gray-blue circles under his eyes, there wasn't much to see.

* * *

His butt was falling asleep. Yohji noted the fact distractedly, told his ass to stop complaining, and readjusted himself on the stool. It was almost three, the official end to his and Aya's shift. Though there was an unspoken rule that the first shift workers, barring any pressing personal circumstances, were to stay and assist with the post-school herd of girls, he thought he could possibly slip out with Aya on the grounds of kitten-keeping.

The redhead was currently pushing through his last arrangement, a big thing of pink roses and … those purple ones, Yohji didn't remember the name exactly, something with 'a' maybe. When Ken walked in the door, Yohji took the opportunity to abandon his post to the brunette man, approaching Aya, leaning casually against the work bench to the man's right and waiting to catch his attention. A stray sprig of baby's breath trumped his presence, and Yohji was forced to clear his throat to officially achieve Aya's notice.

"Shift's over. Let's head out."

Aya stared at him silently, brows drawn together in contemplation. Yohji realized that his own habit of darting away at shift's end with no apparent thought to where Aya took himself off to was not lost on the swordsman.

"C'mon, Ken and Omi got the rush."

The silent why continued between them as Aya turned his arrangement, just a little, to view it from the other side. Yohji refused to be ignored in favor of flowers, especially generic flowers like pink roses. Snagging the vase, he took it to the cooler.

"There," he returned to stand at Aya's side. "All done. Let's go."

"Don't you have plans today?" By plans, Aya obviously meant less places to go and more people to see, or, considering the particularly dark tint to his eyes, people to fuck.

Yohji took advantage of the silent portion of the inquiry to lean close, just a little closer than friendship allowed, and reply with a casual voice that ignored all the non-verbal cues, "Only with you, Aya."

There was a beat of silence, an invitation that wasn't one. Then Yohji let it go, stretching and resuming friendship as normal. When he walked over to the shelf by the door, he wasn't too surprised to find Aya beside him, quietly removing his apron and hanging t up. Part of him, however, jumped for joy when Aya nodded in acknowledgment of the fact that he was going with Yohji, not just at the same time.

Shoving down the urge to turn to Ken and strike a dramatically sexy 'Vic-to-ry!' pose, the blonde settled for a pleasant smile and passed through the door of the shop with the younger man in tow.

He had been working up a conversation that would require response and had it almost perfected by the time they entered the living room. His efforts, however, were completely shot to hell the moment he turned around. But it was worth it.

Aya had paused to tug his black hoodie over his head in response to the heat of the room. It was an unknowingly graceful move, a crossing of his arms as he grasped the hem and slight upward stretching as he peeled off the fabric. Of course, he tugged it roughly at the end, ruining much of the effect and sending his previously calm hair into a wild fluff. Letting the sweatshirt slide down his arms and into his left hand, he reached his right to smooth the red strands ineffectually and without real effort.

Yohji stared, this time because he definitely wanted to throw Aya down for some hard and fast team building exercises. As the man reached to his hair—an incredibly cute gesture that the blonde couldn't remember seeing before—he inadvertently exposed a strip of flesh above his jeans. These were surprisingly fitted when not hidden under the oversized black shirt, but the inch of pale flesh was not due to the jean's particularly low cut, but rather that Aya's shirt was tight and reached just to navel. It was a light gray t-shirt, close fitting, with an English word splashed in metallic silver cursive across the chest: 'Rough.'

He looked young and unbelievably trim. Aya had a body that was powerful because he demanded it be; Yohji had no delusions about that. He had seen Aya kill more than one man with his bare hands. But, that body was also thin and beautiful and fucking delicate _looking_. The man hid it most of the time, his loose, horridly colored clothes yelling that he was big and plain and not worth the effort in order to cover up the insistent whispers his form emitted, that he was lithe and graceful and fucking dangerous but worth every bleeding wound.

"What?" Aya finally asked, not too nicely. Yohji realized he had not only been staring, but completely off in his own world. He ran a hand over his mouth and was relieved that there was no actual drool present there.

"I was trying to read your shirt." He had used to excuse with girls more than once, and Yohji could only hope first that Aya bought it and second that it has been his chest he had been staring. He seemed to lose on both counts, but Aya easily dismissed it in favor of making excuses.

"I was supposed to do laundry last night," he explained, one hand tugging down the shirt.

"Eh? I like it." Violet eyes narrowed as Aya evaluated Yohji's tone to detect teasing; he didn't seem to find any, since it was cold disbelief rather than defensive anger that met the comment. "Seriously, you should wear shit like that."

"Why?" It must have slipped out before he could stop it because Aya was looking distinctly embarrassed at his own question, shifting his weight under Yohji's gaze in an unusual movement of anxiety.

"Because it looks nice," he answered seriously, not trusting the other to interpret a playful reply.

"Hn," he looked away, just s second, which was long enough to let Yohji ponder another victory pose. Then Aya went to walk by him; Yohji risked life and limb by grabbing his bicep gently.

"Where're you going?"

"Upstairs. I need to feed the kitten."

"I'll get her. I gotta go get my –" he fished his mind for anything that might be laying in his room "—phone anyway. Why don't you chill out for a while? You were out pretty late."

The expression on Aya's face couldn't have been more confused if Yohji had just pronounced he was boning the pope.

"What?"

"Not that complicated, Ayan," he released the man's arm. "Rest. I got the kitten."

"I should start the laundry…"

"Later."

A slow nod dismissed him, but he felt Aya's curious stare following him up the stairs. Yohji smiled; he knew the jeans he was wearing made his ass look absolutely fantastic.

~tbc~

Notes: Ah, no kitten name yet—next time, promise! Oh, and Yohji wants you to review, even if it's just to tell him how good he looks in those jeans.


	5. Chapter 5

Our Kitten

Chapter Five: Helping Out

* * *

Well, it had to be love.

That was the only solution, because Yohji had just decided to do someone else's laundry. He didn't even do his own laundry! Well, at least not until Omi or Aya forced him to, and then only if he couldn't sucker Ken into doing it. He sighed and looked into the cardboard box near Aya's bed.

"See what you did?" he accused the kitten. She promptly hissed at him and backed into the corner.

Propping his hands on his hips, Yohji surveyed the situation. Aya's laundry system seemed vastly superior to his own insomuch that the redhead's dirty clothes were exclusively contained within a large hamper near the closet; he bent to shovel these into the plastic basket he had brought up from the utility room and marveled at the ease as opposed to his floor-as-catchall idea. Still, Yohji wasn't sure the initial effort of taking one's clothes off _and_ putting them somewhere was worth the later convenience.

He smiled as he lifted out Aya's faded red shirt, a few black tees, and the infamous orange sweater. Yohji might daydream about destroying the horrid thing, but somewhere along the way Aya's assault on fashion had become oddly endearing.

_Awwww_!

Okay, now his own mind was mocking him. He gave it a mental kick and got back to his chore. A plastic bag neatly contained his mission clothes in isolation; these Yohji left, not about to risk ruining them. The next item he could handle as they were just Aya's usual dark jeans, at least two sizes too big; Yohji checked the tag out of curiosity and found them four sizes above his own. Not sure what he wanted to make of that random information, he chucked them in the basket and shoved his arm further into the hamper . . . to come up with Aya's underwear.

He held it a little too long, which made him feel more than a bit like a creep, but Yohji couldn't help it. Logic said Aya wore tighty whities, clean, cheap, orderly, practical things that they were. True, he had observed firsthand (though too rarely and under circumstances not to his liking) the black boxer briefs Aya wore on missions; those were logical, he supposed, and the dark, concealing, solid nature spoke of Aya too, but these short, silky, expensive-looking boxer shorts did not. They were green.

Aya should not wear green.

He probably looked like a fucking Christmas decoration in these.

Yohji rolled his eyes at the ridiculous lack of color coordination Aya possessed, tossing the shorts into the basket. Still, as he pulled out several other pairs, mostly black but mixed with a few of varying colors (shoved, he noted, to the bottom of the hamper for some unknown reason) he found that he liked their softness. The royal blue probably wouldn't be too bad, but his favorite by far were the purple; they matched Aya's eyes.

He was saved from his inadvertent lapse into fantasy by the artifact his fingers next fished from the depths of the hamper.

"No fucking way," he whispered to the empty room.

Orange.

They were orange boxer shorts.

Well, those would never again see the light of day. Carefully, he tucked them into his own pants (the pockets being far too tight to provide adequate room) and made mental note to dispose of them in some way befitting their horrendous marring of Aya's natural beauty.

With a fleeting smile for having something of Aya's down his pants and a fervent wish that it might soon be the swordsman's hand, Yohji threw the rest of the clothes into the basket and turned towards the bed to collect what he guessed was the primary reason his friend was eager to get to the washing machine.

Aya's sheets were white, and with the comforter thrown back, he could see the smears of blood, dried to that unmistakable color that hovered indefinitely between maroon and brown. The stains swept across the foot of the bed where Aya's boots had laid. There were more brushes towards the edge, absent movements of his hands. Both these were interspersed with dark, condensed drops where the gore had actually dripped from him. The night had been violent and bloody, and Aya had slept with his head resting in its leftovers.

Yohji wasn't even sure the pillow could be saved. The starched pillowcase was dark at its center, small, odd trails making their way outward like the wobbling tentacles of some sea monster, all smeared by the fitful morning turns of Aya's head.

It was still a murder scene, and Yohji found it all the more gruesome for the removal of the body.

Pressing his teeth hard together, Yohji yanked the pillow from the bed and pulled the filthy case away from its soft innards. They weren't as badly stained as he expected, so the pillow went to the floor and the case to the basket, followed promptly by the other case, fitted sheet, and covers. He left the comforter pulled away from the mattress— a cheap thing that might have passed for a medieval torture device— but folded neatly. It was all very unlike him.

He favored the kitten with another accusatory glance as he settled her on top of the brimming basket. She sniffed and, apparently finding the familiar scent of her keeper, curled around herself and settled in to sleep. Of course, she was soon jostled by Yohji's walking and gave up her rest for a brief hiss and glare.

"Tsssst, yourself," Yohji replied affectionately as they made their way from the room.

* * *

The sheets were in the washer and the kitten's belly swelled with what Yohji thought was a bit too much formula; still, she had cried for it, and he wasn't one to deny a lady her heart's desire. Tucking her into the crook of one elbow, Yohji swaggered into the living room, quite proud on the rare occasion of his good deeds. The gods, it seemed, were pleased.

Had he not been holding the kitten, he might have dropped to his knees and given thanks.

Aya indeed was a bounty of sensation which Yohji intended to devour, with his eyes at least.

The swordsman had fallen asleep in his chair. Without the interference of artificial light, the still room had begun to sink into deeper shadows under the influence of the late afternoon sun which slanted through the window. The gold-orange glow brushed over the fine features of Aya's face, softened by sleep that relaxed the brows and left his pale pink lips slightly parted to allow the unhurried passage of breath which stirred, just slightly, the tip of a drooping eartail that hung over his ivory cheek. The other cheek rested lightly on Aya's left palm, a warm cushion between his face and the wine leather of the chair's arm as he snuggled down into its overstuffed cushions, drawing that arm tightly to his side and letting the other drop unconsciously over his folded knees and fingers half curled around a battered copy of _Shinju_.

It was rare that Aya slept in the presence of the others, and Yohji recalled it happening only in the limited spaces of safe houses or hotel rooms, and then only with extreme reluctance that had more than once left the redhead standing guard rather than resting. Yohji wondered if Aya knew how sweet he looked curled around himself like—

"See," Yohji whispered to the bundle in his arms, "that's my other kitten."

"_Mew_."

"Hm? Yours too?" he questioned quietly as he lifted the little feline in his hand. "I'll think about it, but I'm not very good at sharing."

He silenced as Aya shifted turning his face further into the chair as he tried to stretch, inadvertently revealing that enticing strip of bare skin below the hem of the gray t-shirt. Yohji wasn't sure when he had started walking forward, but he suddenly found himself on his knees in front of the chair, kitten clutched in his left hand while his right itched to take action; it wanted to brush back the straying strands of scarlet hair, to ghost gently across the exposed abdomen, to pet Aya like a kitten.

There was a thump as the book fell from Aya's relaxed hand, and violet eyes shot open, catching Yohji much too close and only seconds away from an inappropriate act of affection.

"_Mew_?"

The kitten intervened as Yohji shoved it into Aya's face, simultaneously retracting his own as much as possible and praying to the gods of lovestruck fools that the redhead didn't gut him.

Aya, apparently, was more concerned with righting himself in the chair as quickly as possible. He shoved off the arm, tugging at his shirt and roughly rubbing the red mark on his cheek in an effort to disguise the fact that he had been napping. Yohji thought it best to spare him the trouble.

"Good nap?"

Aya glared; Yohji countered with a kitten.

"All fed and ready to be loved," he smiled as Aya lifted the kitten from his waiting hand, leaving Yohji to savor the fleeting brush of skin and skin as he deposited the fluffball into his lap and carefully stroked its head. Over full and perfectly content to be out of Yohji's clutches, she pressed herself against Aya's stomach and fell asleep before Yohji had even managed to settle himself nearby on the couch.

"You fed her?"

"Yep. All by myself too," he added in his I'm-a-big-boy-now voice.

"Hn."

"And I started the wash."

"You didn't—"

"The words you're looking for are 'Thank' and 'you."

A pause, a stroke of the kitten's tiny back, then, "Thank you, Yohji."

"You're welcome," he said seriously, then burst into a brilliant smile. "Guess what else?"

Warily, and without looking up, "What?"

"I named the kitten."

"Hn."

"Not just now, of course. I thought of it last night. Wanna hear it?"

"Did you name her after your girlfriend?"

"Aya! I'm offended!" He sniffed, only half in offense, and most of that aimed at the fact that Aya had failed to notice his recent abstinence from the supposedly fairer sex.

"Sorry, _one_ of your girlfriends," he corrected absently.

"Che, that's not fair," Yohji complained, "I don't even have a girlfriend right now."

"Boyfriend, then."

How was he to play that? Aya was obviously (to Yohji's delight) trying to pick on him, and in ways that were considerably less cruel than the swordsman's normal fare. Such an opportunity couldn't be wasted, but an outright declaration of intent would get his ass beaten to a pulp. Middle ground, then.

"Nope. Haven't had one of those in years."

"Hn."

Now that wasn't the shock and surprise and mutual declaration of homosexual tendencies Yohji had hoped for. Damn. Falling back on his original plan and hoping the conversation—and it was an honest to god conversation with Aya—wouldn't be a total loss.

"Don't you want to know her name? Or do we need to rehash the finer points of my love life?"

He got half a glare, then, but it seemed mellowed by the warm afternoon light and contentedly sleeping kitten which Aya continued to pet.

"What's the name?"

"Fetish."

"No."

"Oh, come on! Just think about it—"

"No."

"Oh this," he spoke to a pretended audience of curious observers, "this is Aya and Yohji's little Fetish."

"Kudou—"

"Aya-kun," he mimicked Omi, "Yohji-kun said to meet him upstairs; it's time to feed your Fetish."

By this point he knew Aya wasn't finding it very funny, but the slight blush making its way to his cheeks was worth the risk of a punch. Plus, he would have to sit the kitten down first, and that would give Yohji time to escape.

"Don't worry, we'll be sure to keep our Fetish in the bedroom!"

He really didn't think Aya would use the kitten as a projectile, but he was twitching as he silently stared down at her.

"Oh, Omi, we'll be right back. We just have to go buy a leather collar and a leash for our little Fetish!"

~tbc~

Yohji thanks you for the compliments on his jeans! Although, now Aya is watching you suspiciously; perhaps if you review, I might be able to distract him . . .


	6. Chapter 6

Our Kitten

Chapter Six: Making Up

* * *

Aya glared at him as his laughter ran its course, leaving him flushed in the face and short of breath.

"Ridiculous," he decided, the single, icy word cutting through Yohji's good mood with a swift, cleaver-like chop.

With his feelings more hurt than he would have liked to admit, Yohji's first instinct was to lash out at him, to cut him back. But then he noticed. Aya's hands had stilled, no longer touching the soft fur of the animal in his lap; they clenched, instead, one balled into a fist with the other clutched around the opposing forearm, nails biting, just a little, into the pale skin.

"Aya . . ."

"Shut up." He stared ahead, no longer looking even in Yohji's general direction.

"Hey, I was just kidding."

" . . ."

The nails bit a little deeper in the silence.

"Aya, talk to me."

"Why? So you can make fun of me?"

"What?"

"Forget it," he shook his head and stood, scooping the kitten into his hands only to set her on the couch cushion beside Yohji. She stirred, looking lost and worried.

"_Mew? Mew_!"

"Aya!"

But the swordsman was already on the stairs, stolid and cold and, Yohji thought, absolutely miserable.

"_Meeeeeww_!"

"Well, fuck."

* * *

Stupid big mouth. Yohji debated gagging the troublesome thing, but decided to fill it with beer instead. The kitten watched discontentedly from her makeshift plastic playpen (formerly Omi's colander) on the table. Whether sensing the mood or just grumpy from her nap being interrupted, she complained as loudly as her little lungs allowed.

"_Meeeeew_! _Meeeeew_!" A little silence to breathe, then, "_Meeeeew_!"

"Damn, I should have let you both sleep."

"_Meeeeeew_!"

"Shhh, let me think."

"_Meeeeeww_!"

* * *

Thus he went forth with no plan, just a noisy kitten and two fresh cans of beer. Aya's door was closed but not locked, and when he didn't get any answer to his courteous announcement of his presence outside of it, Yohji went on in. The overhead light was off and the shades were newly drawn, allowing only meager light to slant through the tiny spaces between the wooden slats. Aya faced away from this, towards Yohji, perched on the edge of his bare mattress. With his arms crossed tightly over his belly, Yohji again thought how small he looked in the gray t-shirt, but his eyes, cold and hard, denied any possible vulnerability.

"Out."

Yohji just smiled; Aya would have to try harder than that.

At the sound of his voice the kitten squeaked with renewed vigor.

"Meeeeww!"

"She thinks you're mad at her," Yohji noted.

"Hn."

"Come on, think how scary it would be if your mom got mad and left you with some perverted stranger."

"I'm not her mother," he snapped, but trained his eyes on the kitten nonetheless. She was struggling in Yohji's hand, tiny claws trying to drag her body above the loose hold of his fist and get her to Aya. "Don't drop her," he warned.

"Here," Yohji took walked over and offered the kitten.

"Mew!" It was a plea, and Yohji silently congratulated her on the cuteness of it all. No one could resist that face! Aya reached, brows drawn, towards her, and she was quick to tilt her little black nose against his fingers. The moment she was back in his hands, the cries turned to soft purrs. With an air of defeat, Aya shook his head; the glare fell away to neutral cool as he placed her, gently, on the mattress beside his leg, cupping his hand around her small body to offer additional heat as she happily resumed her nap.

Yohji wondered if he could get Aya to curl up against his leg and sleep; he offered a cold beer instead. Aya took it, apparent as a gesture of goodwill, but set it unopened on the nightstand.

Carefully, Yohji lowered himself to the mattress.

"I wasn't making fun," he said quietly, "not of you."

No answer.

"I don't really expect you to call her…that. I just wanted it to be, you know, something between us," he fumbled for words, making his situation worse by trying to drink from his unopened beer before finishing lamely, "since she's ours, and all."

Reaching over, Aya lifted the can from Yohji's hand, opened it, and handed it back with the tiniest of turns at the corner of his lips.

"Thanks."

They waited in silence, and though he was staring intently at the open beer in his hands, Yohji got the distinct feeling Aya was looking at him. Steeling his nerve, he raised his eyes, meeting not the expected glare, but, he thought, faint trepidation.

"You want a name that relates to . . . us?"

"Um, yeah, you know . . . something related . . ." Did he really seduce women with that mouth? What a stupid thing it was!

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"I get to choose."

"Sure."

Aya stared, hard, at Yohji's eyes, as if trying to discern his core essence there. It was awkward, but he struggled not to look away. Finally, Aya dropped his gaze and, with a glance to the sleeping kitten, nodded.

"Got it?"

"Yes."

"Share?"

"Melian, or Meli if you prefer."

"Meli, M-chan" he tried it out, pronouncing the M as 'em' rather than 'mm'. "I like it, but please tell me it's not a type of cat."

"No."

"What's it mean?"

Aya only looked at the kitten, stroking a hand over her fragile little body as she tried to snuggle closer in her sleep. Yohji realized he wasn't going to get an answer, at least not directly. Perhaps Aya had used up his word allowance for the day, or maybe he was secretly debating changing the name back to Fetish, which Yohji had already determined would be Meli's official nickname, especially if Aya wasn't around. And damn if he wasn't going to buy her the cutest leather collar ever made.

"Melian Fetish Kudou-Fujimiya," he pronounced suddenly. "Hm, Melian Fetish Fujimiya. That's better. I'll just take your name when we get married."

Aya simply shook his head.

"Yeah," Yohji finished his beer, "we should never have kids."

~tbc~

Notes: Hm, why did Aya choose that name? What's it got to do with Yohji? Why aren't you being threatened by an angry Aya who saw you complimenting his Yohji? It seems he's rather tied up at the moment, but, if you'd like to leave a review and give Yohji a few suggestions of precisely where to put the whip cream, I'm sure he wouldn't mind.


	7. Chapter 7

Out Kitten

Chapter Seven: Getting Ahead

* * *

Meli. Melian. Melianthus.

Aya was laying in his bed, arms tucked behind his head and Meli curled contentedly on his bare chest. He tried to look in her direction, but it caused his eyes to cross uncomfortably, so he directed his gaze towards the ceiling, still able to feel the subtle rhythm of her tiny breaths.

Honey flower. Melianthus.

Choosing that had been impulsive. He had been thrown off by Kudou's stupidity and, no, not hurt . . . annoyed by the man's insinuations. Followed by that awkward discussion, Yohji's stumbling over describing their joint ownership of the kitten, and Aya's own inability to restrain his mind. It had jumped the moment the other man had said 'something between us,' grabbing an image long-floating in Aya's mind.

Deep red hanging blooms, dark-looking in their bruise-colored bulbs before they burst into indignant scarlet.

A honey flower. It grew uncultivated, bringing forth a profusion of blooms unplanned for among depths of forest greenery. But when brought into domestication, raised in the greenhouse, it was difficult and fragile, sensitive to cold and needy of sun. The bloom was frail at first, a slender shoot that, if handled with particular care, might blossom forth into full, startling color that disguised, deep and unseen in its core, a sweet drop of wild honey.

Thankfully he had given only part of the name; that, perhaps, would save him the embarrassment of Kudou's gloating had he the full term to find in the flower dictionary. Aya had, regrettably now, created the index for use in the shop, and he knew all too well what was printed as the meaning of the honey flower.

* * *

Yohji needed a new plan. He knew one was buried somewhere in his brain. It could be smart when it wanted. Really, it could. So he tried to bribe it, offering food and water and even a fun trip outside to look at the pretty colors. When that failed, he threatened it with beer and thought about poking it with the proverbial q-tip. It didn't flinch, sitting stolidly in the middle of his head and refusing to give up even a single productive step.

There was potential in being helpful, but it only worked on rare occasions when Aya would allow it.

The laundry plan had been one of these instances, earning him a genuine, if forced, thank you. Of course, when he went to retrieve Aya's laundry from the dryer, he found it already gone.

That had been nearly a week ago. Since then, Yohji had managed to successfully help Aya sweep the shop and do the dinner dishes. He had also been yelled at for touching Aya's book, hit for going near Aya's Porsche, and glared at for offering to put up Aya's pruning shears, rice cooker, and dress shoes, in that order.

And he wasn't even going to think about the whole coat incident.

Even care of Meli had been strictly handled by Aya. Under normal circumstances, Yohji was not one to lust after responsibilities, but in the rare instance where those responsibilities lead to other things, or bodies, he was in process of lusting after, he proved more than willing to take on even terrible tasks of personal obligation. Not that Meli was anywhere near terrible. Though he hated to admit it, Yohji had grown attached to the furball; however, he recalled as he looked down at the thin, parallel lines of red on the back of his left hand, the feeling was far from mutual.

If only the little lady liked him, things would have gone more smoothly. As it was, she worked to increase Aya's unease with her wide variety of hisses, spits, and swipes which she aimed at Yohji every time he attempted to take her off the redhead's hands. Even this, though, he thought was a victory. It was only after a pouting comment by Omi that he realized that he had been granted a special privilege. While the other two rarely saw the kitten, Yohji was frequently treated to her displeasure.

Aya avoided bringing their little Fetish downstairs when Omi and Ken were around, but he frequently toted her about when the younger two were sharing a shift in the shop. And, much to Yohji's surprise, he had been granted some kind of tentative permission to access Aya's room, the key being some concern involving Meli.

While delighted with this, Yohji wanted more than the ability to run up and check on the kitten when Aya was otherwise occupied. He wanted to share the space, maybe some conversation, and, should a sudden urge overtake Aya and cause the redhead to take advantage of Yohji's proximity, the bed.

* * *

Though momentarily distracted by the complexity of extricating one of his favorite boots from the tangled mess beneath his own bed, Yohji's thoughts took a sudden one way trip back to redheads, beds, and happy violations of the most personal of spaces. This was courtesy of the man in question who, without so much as a knock, stalked into Yohji's room and, grabbing the blonde's wrist, proceeded to drag him out and down the hall.

At that point, the vast majority of his brain stopped working all together, but the tiny section relegated to bodily survival—breathing, pumping blood, and keeping Aya from killing him—demanded he pay attention to the actual circumstances and cease and desist in his sudden, irrational deduction that desire had completely overcome Aya's resistance and that he was being physically relocated to Aya's bedroom so that they could rip each other's clothes off and have wild monkey sex, twice.

As they passed through the doorway, the desperate shouts of this part of his mind got through just enough to keep Yohji from flinging Aya against the wall and kissing him. Barely.

Aya was speaking.

"What?"

"Look," Aya demanded.

"At what?" Your soon-to-be-naked body stretched out over that convenient bed while you beg to be fucked?

No. Of course not.

Aya was pointing, and not at any of the fun parts of his body; Yohji started breathing again. When the swordsman released his wrist, blood began to return to his more northern regions, and he realized he was supposed to look at the kitten. Meli was currently staggering towards Aya, wobbling her way across the white carpet with her tail stuck straight up in the air.

Yohji raised an eyebrow in question.

Picking up the kitten, Aya sat her back into the cardboard box. She mewed in objection, then began scratching at the side of the box. Less than a minute later, her round belly cleared the rim of the box and she toppled over the side. Rolling around for a second, Meli righted herself and began yet another torturous journey towards Aya's feet.

"She got out," Aya pronounced, a touch of something in his voice. Yohji thought it might be concern or honest excitement.

"Huh," he managed to reply. Compared to a sudden conversion to libertinism, Meli's fumbling escape from a box did not seem world-shattering.

Aya glared at his lackluster response. Reaching down, he snagged Meli from the floor and holding her close to his chest, silently dismissed Yohji by turning his back to the blonde and concerning himself with stroking down the kitten's fur.

Having stepped on a rare moment of eagerness and what the blonde belatedly recognized as a desire to share it with him, Yohji felt like a proper ass.

"Aya," he began, expecting to be cut off mid-sentence by the common 'get out' which this time he might just obey. When Aya didn't speak, Yohji was slightly at a loss of how to complete his though. "Uh, that's…wow, she got out, huh?"

Getting nothing in return, Yohji cast off his dignity and apologized, "Sorry. I was kind of distracted. It's cool, though."

"It was stupid," Aya spoke in a small voice Yohji hardly placed as his. He stood still, facing the opposite wall, shoulders pulled up in haughty anger that the voice couldn't match.

Yohji wanted to hug him, but he knew such a rash action would make the situation worse, perhaps through the intentional amputation of one of his own limbs. He could leave, though it meant dismissing all the progress he had made; and even though he had been mentally bitching about the insufficient nature of their current relationship-that-wasn't, Yohji's stomach tightened unpleasantly at the possibility of letting it slip back into distant friendship. He couldn't meet Aya's silence, a few words spoken over obligatory tasks could never live up to the few traded conversations they had shared over the kitten.

It wasn't much, but it was his. Aya had tried to let him in, just a little, and though Yohji had managed to screw it royally, he wasn't letting Aya take it back. In fact, he was going to demand more.

Plopping down on Aya's bed, Yohji made himself comfortable. He scooted back against the headboard, reclining against it as he crossed his ankles and let his head droop to the right so that he could see Aya's profile and his slow, soothing touches to Meli's head.

"Mom let me have a dog when I was eight," he offered.

Aya might have glared or gathered his eyebrows at the sudden shift of mood and subject, but he simply paused in his petting, tilting his head in that barely perceptible way that Yohji had recently realized meant he was actually listening.

"It was the ugliest thing you ever saw, big and kind of dirt-colored. His tongue stuck out all the time, made him look a little slow. We picked him up at the pound, and the day we brought him home he ate my sister's lipstick and took a dump in the middle of the hall."

There were no questions about his family, just quiet attention, so Yohji went on. His gaze shifted slowly to the cream comforter as he recalled his best friend for one childhood summer.

"Cass always hated him, but Zoe—she's four years older than me, Cassidy's seven—Zoe thought he was kind of cute, in a mutt kind of way."

Yohji missed the slight tug at Aya's lips, but he shifted over to give the man room when he settled on the edge of the bed. He looked at Yohji just long enough to place Meli gently beside the blonde's thigh before turning back to the far wall as he rested his hands next to him on the bed. Meli gave a little mew of protest, staggering away from Yohji towards Aya's back. Yohji let her go with a single tap of her head, watching amusedly as she scratched twice at Aya's jeans before curling up against his bottom. The redhead tried to look back at her, 'hn'ed quietly, and returned to his staring at the wall as Yohji proceeded.

"I loved the damned thing, even after he tore up every single pair of socks I owned. I spent the whole summer wearing chewed tennis shoes with no socks. That fall Mom decided to move again. We hadn't been in the country or anything, but Kibou had been able to stay in the back yard. The minute Mom said Tokyo, I knew he was gone.

"I told her it was okay, that I was tired of him . . . I'm not sure she believed me. We took him back to the pound. I knew no one else was going to give that ugly fucker a chance, but I couldn't do a damn thing about it. Cass took the leash outta my and gave it to the woman. Kibou . . . just stood there, dumb as a rock, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, just looking at me.

"Shit." Yohji pushed his shades onto his head and pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, annoyed at the tears that almost escaped. This wasn't supposed to be a moment of personal catharsis. Aya was supposed to open up, maybe cry on his shoulder, not the other fucking way around. He felt beyond lame, not to mention embarrassed as he had to take another swipe at his eyes.

Shifting forward, he was about to make an escape when Aya's hand landed across his thigh. It wasn't an advance; there was nothing sexual in the firm touch. It was a move of comfort Yohji hadn't thought Aya capable of, and surprised followed on surprise when he looked up from those long fingers to find violet eyes regarding him with a calm approaching kindness.

"Aya . . ." He stopped coughed to clear away the teary hitch in his throat that remained despite his mind's quick flight away from the painful memories. Yohji didn't like to linger with his pain; he had no angsty desire to poke or prod at the bundle of sensitivities that was his past. He would much rather kiss Aya.

So he did.

Leaning forward, he rested his left hand on the other's shoulder and laid his lips softly over Aya's. He stilled there, with the warm, dry lips beneath his own. For a second, neither man moved. Then Yohji felt Aya's quick intake of breath against his lips, and the blonde drew away.

"Sorry."

Aya's hand was jerked from his thigh.

"Oh."

~tbc~

Author's Notes: Well, that was not what I set out to write this chapter (and the kiss was not supposed to happen for quite a while—impatient boys!) but when I went to write an Aya-talks-about-his-past moment, Yohji offered something a little more original. Still, I kinda want to get the Aya-story I have in there, so perhaps next chapter. If you like it so far, please pet the kitten using the review button below.

^-.-^

Or you could pet one of the boys instead…


	8. Chapter 8

Our Kitten

Chapter Eight: Falling Down

* * *

Yohji wanted a gun. He was going to shoot himself. Point blank. Couldn't miss. There were no survivors.

A bullet to the brain seemed greatly more appealing than whatever kind of death Aya was currently working out for him. Because Aya was going to kill him.

"Oh."

Oh? That was it? Where were the threats, the violence, the chasing after Yohji with something shiny and pointed? And why the hell did that little 'oh' hurt?

There was a shift in the stiff mattress as Aya stood and walked to his dresser. The kitten mewed softly in her sleep, but was content to remain curled where she was.

Yohji's mind was still bombarded with questions. Where was Aya going, was he going to come back, and would he be willing to sit a little closer if Yohji apologized for his stupid apology? Why had he said that? Sure, he wanted to avoid a sword up his ass, but he wasn't sorry. Why was he so fucking stupid?

Finding no reply in his own head, Yohji turned to Aya. He hoped for a reprimand that might dim the sparking fire still drifting on his lips. He needed Aya's ice water cool to douse the heat growing in him But Aya only offered another question.

"Would you do me a favor?"

Not ever kiss you again? No, Yohji resolved he would never agree to it; it would break him if Aya said that. The heat couldn't take such a sudden chill; it had to be more moderate. His l—lust couldn't take something that cold.

"Sure," he managed, voice calm and smooth and lieing.

"Watch Meli tonight."

"Where're you going?"

"Will you watch her?" Aya still wasn't watching him, was brushing his hair instead as he glared rather harshly at the mirror over the dresser.

"Yeah. Where're you going?"

"Just out."

"Oh."

* * *

Aya felt the Porsche's powerful engine respond to his command as he levered the gas pedal to the floor to whip around a semi. The truck honked, but he gave it no notice, letting it grow small in his rearview mirror.

He had told Yohji he was going out, but where he really wanted to go was away.

It had hurt more than he thought. But when Yohji kissed him, Aya fell, just for an instant, into the wonderful delusion that the blonde returned his feelings. Then the precious boon was ripped away by Yohji's scared apology. He had never meant for it to happen.

It was too much.

* * *

Okay, he was a little drunk. Aya admitted this to himself as he had to reach twice for the doorknob. But he was not going to make a scene like _some_ people did when they came in at, uh, two-thirty in the morning.

After a brief battle with his keys, he let himself in the back door, ignoring the fact that he had to sit down to get his boots off; he remained on the floor to work at his coat. Damn, but why did he wear so many buckles? After shedding the short jacket, he used the wall to stand and made his way into the living room and towards the stairs.

It wasn't hard. He was a trained assassin, perfectly capable of sneaking into a house. Not that it was hard, not if you didn't come in singing stupid songs like _some_ stupid people. Aya would never do that.

He congratulated himself on his stealth as he clung to the banister and began to climb the steps. Since when did they have so many steps? His socked foot slipped once, sending him down to his knee. That was pretty funny, but Aya didn't laugh. He wasn't a giggling idiot.

He decided to ignore the fact that when he reached the top of the stairs he happened to be on all fours. Besides, he got right back on his feet and didn't call out for help like _some_ inconsiderate people. Like that one inconsiderate, stupid, beautiful person who always wanted his help getting to bed, the one that Aya was always tempted to take to his bed.

No, he wasn't like _some_ people, and that was why that person . . .

Damn it, no, he wasn't gonna do that either. He didn't do emotional, even if he was a little drunk. Even if he was still trying to open the door to his room, even if he had just fallen down outside that door. At least the carpet was soft to lay on.

He wasn't like _some_ people. He was Aya. He wasn't like people at all.

Warm, strong hands slipped under his arms, and Aya was lifted from the floor.

Some people. They just couldn't leave well enough alone.

* * *

If Yohji thought Aya looked fragile before, he definitely had a new point of reference now.

Cross-referencing the familiar stumbling noises with the fact that he himself was already upstairs and fairly sober, Yohji went out in the hall to investigate. While the thought of an incapacitated Aya had crossed his mind (along with a hundred disturbing scenarios of fights, sudden missions, and Schwartz), finding Aya falling down drunk had been way down on the list.

Yohji found himself pleasantly surprised.

It wasn't as if he wanted his friend to come to any harm, but when Aya disappeared at night, his coming home with nothing more than a hangover-to-be was pretty good. And, it gave Yohji a rare chance to play knight in shining armor to the inebriated princess of his dreams.

Aya was curled up in front of his door as if he intended to sleep there, with his thin arms tucked close to his body and his hands under his head. Stepping behind him, Yohji reached down and hauled him upwards.

"Huh?" Aya mumbled, even as he fell forward. Yohji was quick to catch him around the waist, and carefully turned him around so that he could pull one of Aya's arms over his own shoulder. The guy could hardly stand; he wasn't buzzed, he was fucking trashed. Leave it to Aya to go all the way.

"C'mon, beautiful, bed time," Yohji informed him, starting towards his own room.

"S'your bed tha' way," he was told.

"Yep. It's softer."

"No . . . can' sleep n'your bed."

"Aw, you're gonna hurt my feelings," Yohji returned as he opened his bedroom door and ushered them inside. "Besides, we slept in your bed last time."

Aya blinked at that and stopped helping him walk.

"Meli's in here anyway," the blonde offered.

That seemed to work, and Aya let himself be dropped to Yohji's bed. The mattress bounced a little under his weight, and he lay there in a sprawl, gray shirt riding up over his belly button and hair spread behind him. Meli, who had been sleeping on the pillow was awakened by the movement and came over to investigate, sniffing at Aya's hair and mewling a little.

"Aya, I think you're drunk."

"And you're . . ." he swallowed hard and lifted one hand haphazardly towards Meli.

"I'm what?" he questioned, trying to turn down the blankets with Aya laying longways across them.

"Cruel."

Well that wasn't flattering. And who the hell had just dragged his ass out of the hallway?

"Am I?"

"Yeah…you can't…Meli," the last word was a summons, and he tried to get the kitten to crawl up on his chest. Meli hesitated.

"Wait a second," Yohji instructed. Taking the kitten, he set her temporarily on his own pillow. Then he went back for the other kitten; Aya was heavier, but put up just about as much resistance, a limp doll in Yohji's arms.

He wondered if he could take off Aya's pants and not get killed. Probably not. Unable to be completely good, he managed to free the redhead from the t-shirt, stealing a harmless caress of one bare shoulder before setting it aside.

"Tha's what I mean," Aya said, looking up at him.

"What?" Yohji propped his hands on his hips and stood over the younger man.

"You can't jus' start stu—shit and then," he made a meaningless gesture.

Since he was being unusually talkative, Yohji indulged him with attention.

"I mean, if I said . . . okay, if I said to Melian, you're cute, I'm . . . I'm gonna keep you, then I jus'," he paused to think of the words, "jus' did, said, oh, sorry, my mistake. How would that be?"

There was an accusation in there somewhere, but Yohji was having a little trouble ferreting it out.

"You can't, you shouldn' do that to people, Yohji!"

"How is it that you're the one drunk and I'm still getting lectured? Shouldn't I be telling you off right now?"

Well, that got him more of a serious look than he had counted on; Aya look downright sad.

"Yes," he answered. "But you don' have to."

He turned his head away, rolling to his side and burying himself under the covers. Yohji felt awful, like he had said something, to use Aya's word, cruel. Had he?

"Aya?"

No answer.

"I was just kidding. Honest."

A little motion at that, maybe a hitch of breath, maybe just a nod. What had he done?

Sighing, Yohji tried to fix it the way he had fixed most of his recent screwups. Switching off the light, he went to the other side of the bed and picked up the kitten. Holding her carefully, he got under the covers. She hissed at him, now that Aya was back, and he held her only long enough to settle himself on his side, facing Aya. He couldn't see the other's face with him buried under the covers like that, but he guessed as good as possible, and pushed Meli in his general direction.

A pale hand, starkly visible even in the dark room, snaked out to wrap gently around the furball, and she was drawn slowly under the covers, presumably next to Aya who was whispering to her. Yohji only caught part of it.

" . . . wrong name after all . . . shoulda been geranium, mph, fish . . . right . . ."

The next words were even less expected thought just as soft.

"Sorry Yohji…night."

"Goodnight, Aya."

Even though there was an Aya in his bed, Yohji still fell asleep, sure to be very disappointed with himself in the morning.

~tbc~

Review to pet the kitty! ^-.-^


	9. Chapter 9

Notes: It took a while to get this updated, but I assure you I'm still working on it! Also, I'm going to try to go back and correct the lacking page breaks in the earlier chapters.

* * *

Our Kitten

Chapter Nine: Getting Up

* * *

Light struck him, thrusting him suddenly into the world of the waking and filling his head with pain; recollection of his stupidity followed hard on its heels, and the moan that he made was a lamentation of both.

"Morning sunshine," a chipper voice greeted, making him want nothing more than to crawl under the bed and die. Of course, it then occurred to Aya that he wasn't even in his bed. What the hell had he done?

Reluctantly, he peeled his face from the pillow and sat up. His stomach and head protested the movement, and he held obligingly still, debating if he was going to have to bolt for the bathroom. No, he decided, he would be spared that humiliation for the moment, if he held very still. Squinting at the light, he hesitantly raised his eyes to Yohji who stood in front of the window with a hand on the cord to the blinds.

Aya wanted to kill him, but it was a vague wish almost completely subsumed by the desperate hope that he hadn't done anything terrible, like declare his undying love or sleep with the man, the former being worse than the latter. But he was still half-dressed and Yohji didn't seem intent on beating the shit out of him, so Aya thought he might be okay. All he had to do was get out of Yohji's bed without throwing up, falling down, or talking to the man; it was the only hope of salvaging his suffering dignity.

Cautiously, he moved his legs to the sit on the side of the bed, facing away from the light. The shifting initiated another wave of nausea, and he lowered his head into his hands, keeping his elbows propped on his knees to support the position. Okay, escaping was not going as well as he had hoped, and it got progressively worse as Yohji came around the bed, disgruntled furball twisting in his hand. The blonde took a seat beside him, and Aya wasn't sure whether to appreciate or loathe the fact that Yohji did so with care so as not to jostle him.

He felt too bad to glare, so he took it with appreciation.

How the hell did Yohji do this three times a week?

"Okay?" the blonde asked.

Aya went to nod, thinking better of the motion at the first shift of his head. He grunted instead.

He needed to get out of there, to find something along the lines of tea and a shower and, definitely, a toothbrush to make himself feel somewhere near human again. Then he'd have to apologize to Yohji for whatever it was he had done to end up in the man's room; the blond idiot was sure to love that. He was probably already bursting with smug satisfaction.

"_Mew_."

"Shhh," Yohji's voice soothed, "Mommy's got a hangover."

* * *

It had to be the cutest damn thing he had ever seen. Okay, so Aya probably didn't feel very cute at the moment (if he ever did), but he had woken up perfectly imperfect, with his red hair in disarray and a red line across his cheek where he had slept on the seam of the pillow. His eyes had blinked against the light, before they were hidden away, and he had made a little sound, somewhere between a moan and a whine, borrowing deeper into the bed before gathering himself up and trying to be Aya.

There were two courses Yohji could pursue. He could revel in their reversed situations, berating Aya for his raucous, irresponsible behavior, throwing in a few choice words the redhead like to use on him. And while it was tempting to call him a few of the unkind names he was often subject to, it would hardly get him into Aya's pants, which, he noted, had slipped rather low on Aya's hips during the night and were currently revealing a tempting jut of hipbone. Well, that decided it. Yohji would be helpful and understanding and just too damn useful to live without.

Plus, he'd already gotten to enjoy waking Aya with the sun, a particularly nasty trick played on him on a weekly basis.

"Sorry to wake you up, but we have to open the shop in an hour, and I didn't think you'd want me to explain to Omi why you weren't there."

There was a grunt from the other, then, after Aya licked his dry lips, a soft, "Right."

"You're probably not feelin great right now, so tell you what," he stood up, carefully, switching Meli to his left hand and letting his right ghost over Aya's messy hair, "I'll go down and feed this thing—"

"_Mew_," Meli agreed.

"Yes, I know," he told her. "I'll feed her while you get a shower. Then I'll make us some breakfast."

"No breakfast."

"Ma, Aya, trust me."

* * *

He had never been so glad to see someone leave a room.

Yohji wandered out talking to a protesting Meli who, according to the blonde's interpretations of her increasingly loud cries, was reluctant to leave Aya (otherwise known as 'mommy'). He was grateful that the blonde had gotten him up in time for work and that he had not tried to remain and help him, but had left him alone to deal with the mess he'd made of himself.

Aya resolved to relocate that mess to the bathroom in order to deal with several necessary operations.

Standing proved hazardous, and he closed his eyes against the sensations, none of which were pleasant. Making his way cautiously to the doorframe, he was again glad Yohji was not there to watch him lean on it to regain his balance and ponder how he might off himself between that point and his destination.

Fortunately or not, he made it alive, closing the door behind him and leaning heavily on the vanity. The look disgust on his face was shone back to him as he regarded himself in the mirror. He wore no shirt and had no idea at what point he had lost it, and his pants were hanging too low, stretched out from being slept in and threatening to fall, already revealing the black cloth of his boxers. Charming. It was a look that went well with this pale, shadowed face. The circles under his eyes were ridiculous, too dark; he rubbed at them as if they might come off, and then berated himself for the stupidity of the thought. His eyes themselves were bloodshot, red lines accented by the wild fall of his hair. He hoped the signs would fade soon; they would be difficult to hide.

He thought about telling everyone he was just doing a very convincing Yohji impression.

Pressing himself off the vanity, he managed to start the shower before the urge to throw up overtook him. So he clutched at the cool porcelain of the toilet, listening to the water run in the shower and trying not to think.

* * *

Yohji hummed a little as he waited for the toaster, vowing that he wouldn't jump when it made its noise. He hated being surprised by this particular appliance which, as he had explained to Omi just the other day, made a particularly loud clang when the toast was done. He had tried to bargain for a toaster oven, but not one of his teammates would join his cause, and he just didn't have the motivation to seek one out on his own. So, once more, Yohji faced off against toaster, humming to keep it unsuspecting.

Meli watched this drama from the floor. Having learned to escape her box, she couldn't be trusted to remain in her colander-bed. Yohji moved carefully around her, pausing every few minutes to track her down and bring her back to the small rug in front of the sink.

"_Mew_?" she directed towards one of his slippered feet.

"Two minutes, darling. Mommy's breakfast first, then yours."

"_Mew_."

"Now don't be—"

CLANG.

"Damnit," he swore, having inadvertently started at the toaster-noise that never ceased to remind him of the discharge of a firearm.

Using a good portion of his self-control, Yohji took the toast from the antagonistic toaster without bashing the thing into little pieces. One piece of toast went onto a plate and was liberally topped with honey; the other went into his mouth, dangling by one corner as he set Aya's on the table. After a brief foray to the medicine cabinet, he added two white pills to the plate.

Taking a bite of his toast, he grabbed Meli (who was trying to hide under table) and set her back on the rug. She spat at him a little, and was rescued from the resultant poking by the whistle of the tea kettle. Yohji set it off the burner and dug in the cabinet for a tea bag, having to shift past the loose leaves that Aya preferred. Too much trouble, in his humble, coffee-drinking opinion. Ah, and some of that delightful beverage was destined for his own mug.

Locating a box of lemon-ginger tea, Yohji pulled out one of the single packets. Next he went for their mugs. His own was a large, nondescript black one, but Aya's…rarely could Yohji help from smiling at it. On the rare occasion that he was forced from bed at the ungodly hour at which Aya ate breakfast, it was a small boon to see the man's serious face, reading the paper or some other super-grownup publication, directly above the smiling kitty cup.

It had been a joke at first, orchestrated by none other than himself. Aya had been injured and bitchy and refusing to eat. The chibi's eyes having been defeated, Yohji had gone in armed with his new purchase and sat at Aya's bedside, telling him to smile, like the kitty, see? Aya had stared at it for a long minute, no doubt appreciating the cartoonish grin of the fluffy, pink kitty cat. He might have been swayed to eat the soup inside by Yohji's eloquent recapitulation of the facts of his condition or by the pure sexiness that was his personality, but, in reality, it had to be the kitty.

Having succeeded, the kitty mug was used throughout the redhead's convalescence and then whenever anyone else happened to fix a beverage for him. There were a few half-hearted comments on his part, but Yohji thought Aya actually liked it. Whether he harbored a secret affection for the pink kitty or not, eventually, he just gave up and claimed it as his own.

The kitty mug was filled with water and the tea bag placed inside before it was situated beside the plate. Yohji filled his own cup from the coffee pot and sat it on the counter. Finally, a third cup (this one a chipped, beige number) was taken from the refrigerator and placed in the microwave.

He was just placing this into the sink and wiping Meli's dripping mouth when his teammate appeared in the doorway. For the most part, he looked like Aya again, damp from the shower but tidy and only leaning a little on the cabinet where he stopped.

"Hey," Yohji greeted.

"Hey," Aya returned, softly. Yohji smiled; it wasn't often that any greeting got more than a 'hn.'

"Here, sit down," he offered, pulling out one of the kitchen chairs. Aya blinked and stared at him. "Sit, sit!"

Aya sat.

He picked up the tea immediately, looking almost grateful as he breathed in the aroma before sipping at it.

"Food first," Yohji instructed, "then the pills."

Aya didn't look up, but he seemed to defer to Yohji's expertise, eating most of the toast before downing the two pills. The blonde stood by the counter, silently watching him finish off the tea as he tried to keep a wiggling Meli in his hands. As soon as Aya sat aside the empty cup, the kitten was deposited in his hands. He looked for a second as if he didn't recognize the mewing thing in his lap then began to pet her head gently; more than eager for his attention, she pressed against his fingers. So taken with the creature's change in mood, Yohji missed it when Aya finally said something.

"Huh?"

He drew a long breath, then, quietly, "I said I'm sorry."

"What for?"

Was Aya blushing? Yohji couldn't tell for sure, not with all that red hair hanging down around his face.

"Last night. For whatever I did."

Yohji grinned, "You don't remember?"

"No. Not all of it."

With a dramatic sigh, Yohji feigned shock, "How could you forget that!"

Hm, well that wasn't precisely how it was supposed to go. Aya was supposed to glare at him, call him an idiot, and restore the proper order of their relationship. Instead he seemed to cringe at Yohji's teasing, his shoulders dropping almost imperceptibly as he pulled Meli a little closer to him.

"Chill," Yohji tried to keep his voice light as he tapped Aya's shoulder with his coffee cup before taking the seat next to him. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Aya ran a hand over his face.

"_Mew_," Meli contributed.

"Shh, let mommy tell it."

Shaking his head, Aya started to hesitantly recollect, seeming to recall his tale as he told it, "I remember the bar, mostly. Drinking. There was some girl. Nako? Nanako. maybe. She wanted . . .but I told her," he ran the hand through his hair now, and Yohji waited with baited breath; Aya left him wanting, moving quickly and quietly on without filling in the blank, "I ended up in a cab. I remember getting up the stairs, but that's all."

Aya looked so solemn, guilty even, as he told this, and Yohji was more than curious as to what the man was thinking he might have done.

"Nothing after that?" he prodded, instantly regretting it as Aya's eyes dropped away from him to stare at the table. Again, the swordsman shook his head. Deciding it wasn't fun to play when his adversary gave in so fast (and without the threat of violence that often marked their casual interactions), Yohji conceded as well.

"Well, you didn't strip down or sing show tunes or anything," he tried for a smile, or what passed for one for Aya, but there was nothing; Aya's look was cooling from unsure and slightly open to the glacial detachment he wore on most days. "Seriously, Aya, you're the only guy I know who gets drunk and talks about flowers."

What was meant for a comforting remark caused a reaction so intense and unexpected that Yohji was taken aback; Aya's head shot up, and for an instant, the look on his face was nothing less than panic. It wasn't the uncontrolled panic of others, but Yohji knew him well enough to recognize the tense, fight or flight reaction. If Aya had had his sword, it would definitely have been at Yohji's throat. Wide violet eyes stared straight into green, evaluating, calculating—and then it was gone.

Yohji found himself without words, and Aya used the opportunity to get away. Meli was shifted again, this time to Yohji's lap, while her previous holder got up and quickly cleared away his dishes. The blonde realized that if he let the other go, the whole incident would never be spoken of again, and he might never get his answers: and he needed answers like he needed air. Yohji absolutely, desperately, pathetically needed to know what Aya had told the girl at the bar, why he had been drinking in the first place, what he had thought he had done, and why the hell geraniums put him into threatened rabbit mode.

It was a requisite for his sanity. Really.

But he needed time, so he grabbed the first chance at prolonging their contact he could think of, "Your car!"

That was too loud, he realized belatedly as Aya lifted his fingertips to his forehead. But he turned from the sink and leaned back on it, regarding Yohji silently despite his obvious eagerness to be out of the kitchen.

"Your car," he repeated, quieter this time, "You said you took a cab, so it's at the place, right? I can give you a ride to get it."

"You don't—"

"I don't mind at all," he smiled, talking over what might have been (probably was) a refusal of his generous services, "I need to run some errands anyway."

"How do you know you're going anywhere near where I left it?"

Yohji shrugged, "They've got bookstores all over."

"Bookstores?"

~tbc~

Review? The kitten wants you to.

^-.-^


	10. Chapter 10

Notes: As I say time and time again, sorry this took so long! I haven't forgotten about it and will try to be quicker with the next update. Thank you all for your patience and especially for your reviews. They make the kitten (s) very, very happy!

^.^

* * *

Our Kitten

Chapter Ten: Dropping Off

* * *

Yohji had confused the hell out of Aya; he was sure of it. Not that the man came right out and said it. It was never that simple. In fact, Aya had been cold, almost frigid with him all afternoon, talking only when shop business required it and rebuffing each of the blonde's attempts to be nice. No, he didn't want Yohji to go out and get lunch No, he didn't need any help reaching that vase on the top shelf. No, for gods' sake get away from him and let him finish carrying things to the van.

Where he would normally be grumpy as hell at the end of such a day, Yohji found himself smiling as he swept the floor. This was the last of the chores, and he completed it while keeping an eye on Aya who, he was almost sure, would stage some kind of escape attempt. Ah, there it was. Having counted the drawer and prepared their deposit, he was taking off his apron with silent precision, doing his damndest to avoid Yohji's attention.

No such luck.

"Okay, let's go," Yohji decided, planting the broom in the corner and yanking his own apron over his head.

Aya gave him a look that wasn't very happy, but Yohji just smiled at him and pulled his keys out of his pocket.

"It's too far," Aya tried, "I'll just take the train."

"You hate the train."

Aya shrugged.

"I gotta go out anyhow, might as well be with you."

Obviously not knowing how to take that, Aya stared at him; taking advantage of the hesitation, Yohji made the decision for him, "Good. Let's get out of here."

* * *

Taking Aya's direction, Yohji made a left turn and started down the busy street. The redhead had been quiet despite his best attempts at conversation. Usually he could get Aya to at least talk shop, but even the mention of the new glazed vases (something the swordsman had been quietly excited about for over a week) resulted in silence. At his wit's end, Yohji was relieved when they passed a large bookstore on the right. Doubling back, he located a parking spot behind the store.

"You don't mind, do you? If we stop here?"

"It's fine," Aya answered as he climbed out of the car. He stood for a second, the late September wind stirring his hair slightly as he looked up at the shop, already lit brightly though the afternoon sun had just started to set. Yohji smiled, knowing that the other frequented bookstores, at least if the collection of books in his room was any indication. They were one of the few things for himself that Yohji saw him spend money on.

* * *

Having agreed to meet Aya at the front of the store in twenty minutes, Yohji started immediately on his search. Quickly locating the gardening section, he began to rifle through the books on growing things. There were at least fifty of them on how to plant flowers, but he couldn't find the one he needed. He was beginning to think it was hopeless when he almost looked over another green-colored cover; only the strange font, an odd kind of curling cursive, made him pause.

With his lucky find under his arm, he went to find his cover story. It wouldn't do for Aya to get wind of his real reason for the errand, at least not yet. Standing in front of the magazine rack, he debated picking up a couple plastic-wrapped titles, but while they might have been believable, it wasn't exactly the image of himself he wanted to give the guy he was interested in. Ultimately, he decided on a Popular Mechanics and a large, thin book on raising well-behaved cats.

He got to the register just in time to catch Aya checking out with a stack of his own. Curious as always, and simultaneously hoping similar scrutiny wouldn't be given to his own purchases, he scanned Aya's titles. A couple were fiction, thick things that looked like thrillers. Another, thinner book was in a foreign language, French, he was pretty sure; it shocked him for a second, but only a second. It was easy to forget that one of Aya's roles in Weiss was that of linguistic expert, and there was no telling exactly what languages he knew. As interesting as this was as potential conversation fodder, Yohji was much more drawn to the book on the top of Aya's stack, _Training Your Kitten_. It was one of those brightly-colored books and had a picture of a fuzzy, white kitten on the cover.

When the redhead caught him looking, Yohji was offered a hard, offended look that conveyed through complete silence that he would face a most unpleasant fate if he was ever stupid enough to mention the existence of that book to anyone. He shrugged and gave a smile in return. For a moment, Aya looked unsure, but he simply turned away to accept his change from the clerk, a young woman with a nose ring who appeared just a little too pleased to be helping him. Too busy fending off her blatant attempt to get his phone number, Aya didn't have a chance to so much as glance at what Yohji was buying. He took his change and left, leaving Yohji behind to sort his own business.

"Is this all for you, sir?" the cashier asked. Her tone had cooled considerably from the one he had just heard addressed to Aya. Though he wasn't interested, Yohji felt the sting of the slight and gave her a rather sultry look as he drug his wallet from the pocket of his tight jeans.

* * *

"Want to grab dinner since we're out?" Yohji suggested with every air of casualness he could manage, not even taking his eyes off the road. Thankfully, he had excellent peripheral vision, letting him see Aya turn away, just too quickly to manage casualness on his part.

"No."

"Come on, I'm starving," he tried. Though his stomach was indeed informing him that he had spent his lunch break plotting over his turkey sandwich rather than eating it, it was too much to wish for it to make a noise. No, that only happened when he wanted to desperately avoid it. "We're going to Harajuku, right? There's a killer sushi place near the station."

"You don't like sushi," Aya said, flat and factual, but he was looking at Yohji now, brows drawn together just a little.

Damn. Oh well, when all is lost, go with honesty.

"Yeah, but you do."

If anything, Aya looked more confused than before.

* * *

Yohji choked back another maki roll, chasing it with a gratuitous amount of tea. This, he was sure, was not food. Sure, it looked pretty, and, had someone taken the time to throw part of it on the grill, it might have been very nice, but it was raw and it was cold and it was not making his stomach happy in the least.

But it was worth it, he thought, as he picked up another prettily wrapped piece. Egg. He could do that.

Ew. Okay, maybe the fish wasn't the only problem. He wasn't a fan of seaweed either.

Not for the first time, Yohji wondered if he had been born in the wrong country. He continually wrote off his tastes as following after his father's (which was easy considering he had no idea what the man had liked), but it certainly seemed a cruel twist of fate that he grew up trying to avoid his country's classic dishes. And now, if his plans (latent as they were) came to fruition, he was signing himself up for even more years of cramming things down his throat.

Because Aya liked it.

Sitting primly on the other side of the low table, Aya ate with a conscious grace that impressed the blonde. Deliberation without strain, he had decided, having had the opportunity to refine this description as he watched Aya go about his daily tasks. Yohji loved to watch Aya do things. And while he wasn't above watching him bend over and move the trees in the shop or imagining him naked while he reached up to water the ferns, there was also a more quiet thrill in just watching the redhead do innocent things in his own particular way.

Now, for example. He sat close to the table, legs criss-crossed much like Yohji's, only where the blonde knew he seemed to sprawl out like a long-legged spider, Aya appeared compact, closer in upon himself. His table manners were impeccable, a surprise considering a great deal of Aya's manners were either unused or nonexistent. Here, though, he exhibited nice form, completely traditional as he poured soy sauce into his small dish and used an excessive amount of the fresh wasabi.

He had ordered a mixture of things, most of which Yohji recognized and categorized immediately as barely edible. But Aya seemed to enjoy them. He would linger, just a second, over selecting which he would eat, then grasp it easily between his lacquered chopsticks and guide it to the soy sauce; this was applied only to one side, and it never dripped as he lifted the sushi to his mouth where it disappeared behind pale pink lips.

There Yohji got a little distracted.

* * *

"Left," Aya directed.

"Here?"

"Yes. You can drop me off at the corner."

Yohji didn't miss the uncomfortable shifting as Aya looked out the window. They were in the trendy part of the district, but heading down a street that Yohji knew lead to some slightly more risqué places. Desperately curious, he brushed off Aya's offer.

"A couple more blocks isn't gonna make a difference," he said.

Aya shifted again, chewing on his lip just a little and undoubtedly wondering just how he had gotten himself into his current situation.

"Tell me where," Yohji instructed. Busily scanning the parking lots, he spotted the Porsche just as Aya said something. Guiding the Seven easily into the small parking lot, he stopped near Aya's car and studied the building in front of them. It was a three story, nondescript building of gray stone, main entrance made obvious only in its double doors. Unlit above these was a neon sign, _Mélange_.

Despite his extensive experience, Yohji had never been there. He didn't frequent Harajuku, really, finding a few too many kids. Not kids, exactly, but close enough to eighteen to force him to sort them out. Besides, he didn't really get into the hip, punk scene. But then again, the idea of Aya decked out in skinny jeans and trendy, fur-trimmed jackets kind of did it for him.

Lost in thought, he let Aya slip wordlessly from the car, catching him just a second before the door was slammed shut.

"Hey!"

Leaning back in, Aya offered a quick, "Thank you."

"No problem," Yohji dismissed. He gestured to the building with a tilt of his head, "I've never been here. What kind of place is it?"

Aya shrugged. Yohji rolled his eyes dramatically and was rewarded with an answer, albeit a vague one.

"Different," the redhead stated. Then he shut the door and was gone.

* * *

"Please, Aya? Just for a little while?"

"No."

Omi looked absolutely pathetic. Sitting in the armchair, he leaned towards Aya, hands already half out in mistaken anticipation. Situated on the couch with Meli, the redhead didn't appear affected by the boy's attempt at a pitiful look.

Unable to resist, Yohji took a seat beside Aya and held out his own hand. Aya looked at his hand, his face, then Omi, silently asking if he intended to hand over the kitten even after the swordsman's denial of the privilege. Yohji smiled in what he hoped was a trustworthy way, but Aya still hesitated.

"Don't you have to practice?" Yohji asked, knowing full well that Aya hadn't been up to the gym that day. "I'll watch her."

Again Aya glared at Omi, and, as if taking a cue, Meli roused enough to hiss quietly in his direction. Defeated, the boy dropped his hand and collapsed back in the chair, contenting himself with holding the remote. It wasn't very much fun to pet.

"Here," Aya said, placing the kitten in Yohji hand, "hold her."

The unspoken _you_ was clear enough.

It wasn't until the redhead was well out of earshot that Omi braved a comment.

"I'm not going to hurt her," he said, voice wavering between defensive and defeated.

"I know."

"Can I hold her?"

"Sorry, chibi."

Omi sighed, "How come you get to hold her?"

"Because I'm the daddy," Yohji explained, lifting Meli in his hand so he could smile at her. One tiny paw came out to bop his nose. Omi rolled his eyes.

"And I can't hold her because?"

"Because Aya's the mommy, isn't he?" Yohji asked Meli. She stared at him with her little, blue eyes, obviously wondering when he had gone crazy.

"I can't believe he lets you call him that."

* * *

"Here," Yohji directed, sitting Meli down on his bed. She began her wobbly trek across the comforter, and he kept one eye on her as he snagged his shopping bag. Gently lifting her fuzzy little body, he sat and deposited her between his crossed legs. This, it seemed, did not suit. Immediately she began to cry and try to climb out.

"Shh," Yohji directed. "I can't read if you're escaping."

And, honestly, he wasn't sure his Meli privileges wouldn't be revoked if Aya heard her so genuinely unhappy. Unfazed by his plight, Meli continued her struggles until he gave up and put her beside him, determined to keep her from falling off the bed. Content, she began to wander away quicker than he had anticipated.

"Damn it."

Deciding that it was not going to work and determined to get a leash and collar as soon as she was big enough, Yohji got up to shut the door before putting Meli on the floor to roam to her heart's content.

He got a self-satisfied. "_Mew_," for his efforts.

Aya was definitely spoiling her. They would have to have a chat about that. But first…

Shifting the bag, Yohji sat beside it and pulled out his find of the day: _The Language of Flowers_. Okay, so it wasn't exactly penthouse, but it contained what he was beginning to think was a wealth of information, not just read-it-on-the-net stuff either, Aya-information. That kind was hard as hell to get and worth every yen he'd shelled out for the book.

Even before Aya's slip in the kitchen, Yohji had been curious. Two days ago, he had made an attempt at an investigation only to find something amiss, a little thing that ate at him. Half-sure that Meli's name had come from some kind of flower, he had thought to check Aya's flower index for a meaning. The increasingly worn stack of papers was always, always under the counter in the shop, put there by Aya to make up for the apparent ineptitude of his coworkers. But it was gone.

It wasn't likely that highly skilled thieves had infiltrated their alarm systems and stolen the flower index. He had given more attention to the possibility that Omi or, more likely, Ken had mislaid it somewhere, but neither had even touched it for days.

That left Aya.

And Aya had the damn thing memorized. It wasn't a surprise. Aya did that kind of thing. He knew the blueprints for every mission, the security codes of every one of the team, the average numbers of flowers they sold each month, and the phone numbers to every fast food place in a five mile radius.

And he knew the meanings of the flowers.

So why had Aya relocated the index? This combined with his near freak out over Yohji's revelation of his drunken discussion meant that Yohji had to know.

Sparing a glance at Meli (who was currently trying to find a way over a pile of dirty clothes), Yohji opened the book and began to search.

Marjoram, Marvel of Peru, Meadow Lychnis, Meadowsweet, Moschatel, Moss.

Thinking he had simply missed it, Yohji read over the page again. There was nothing that even suggested the name Meli. Surely, though, his instincts were no so far off. Perhaps Aya had chosen the middle of a flower's name. Determined, Yohji flipped to the title page and began to read from the beginning.

~tbc~

Notes: Yohji's so close. Will he figure it out? Review to encourage him (and the author) to keep going!


	11. Finding Out

Our Kitten

Chapter Eleven: Finding Out

* * *

Carefully, Yohji folded down the corner of the crisp, glossy page.

Then, for a long time, he sat and stared at the entry. Blindly grabbing his cigarettes from the nightstand, he lit one, placed it between his lips, and stared at the page some more.

He'd read the whole book, and there was only one flower name that presented a remote possibility.

Meli. Melian. Melianthus.

It was the latin name, an obscure fact that would undoubtedly appeal to Aya's elite sensibilities, and a reference that someone, namely Yohji, was not likely to stumble upon.

But he had—stumbling meaning, of course, intensive investigation that Aya ought to have known the blonde would conduct—and Yohji couldn't be more happy. Fucking thrilled was closer.

But he had to be careful, because he might be wrong. The evidence was on his side: his own suggestion for the name to reference the two of them, Aya's hesitation and refusal to tell him what it meant, the younger man's reaction to their kiss, his drunken rambling on flowers and that scared response to leaning he had said something. Aya had done it on impulse, and he was scared shitless that Yohji would find out.

Now he knew. Maybe. His gut told him it was true, but he took a moment to consider that perhaps his dick had overwhelmed the normally attentive sense of intuition. He didn't think so; it just happened that both were rather excited by the possibilities that had suddenly opened up.

Thinking back through the past weeks, Yohji became more and more sure he was on the right track.

Momentarily considering something else Aya had said, he flipped quickly to look up geraniums. The meaning of gentility and esteem threw him momentarily, and he chewed on the filter of his smoke for second before a subcategory enlightened him. He had thought Aya's mention of 'fish' referred to a pet, but no so. Aya wasn't that simple. The fish was a type of geranium, and it fit nicely into the plot Yohji was hashing out: disappointed expectation.

Now, if he could only get Aya to act on the expectation. The only way to do that, Yohji thought, was to get the man to realize that his feelings were returned. But, Aya had picked Meli for a reason, and it wouldn't be easy, because the redhead was beyond reticent about that kind of thing. After all, he had picked the honey flower for a reason.

* * *

Yohji was not a patient person. He was a man of instant gratification and would do just about anything to achieve that. So, like with so many of his well-laid plans, Yohji found himself jumping in headfirst and hoping his safety net held.

"Aya!"

Standing at the register, Yohji suppressed a smile. Though deliberately provoking a rather temperamental man shouldn't be funny, it, for some inexplicable reason, really was. It could be that for once he actually had the upper hand. The logical part of his brain whispered that this idea was dangerously delusional, but he chose to ignore that.

"Aya!" he yelled again.

"Stop yelling," Ken complained as he walked over. "He's in the back room; go get him."

Ignoring that sage advice, Yohji simply yelled the redhead's name for a third time. Ken just shook his head.

"What?" Aya snapped, coming out of the storage room with a glare and a pot full of sick daisies. His green apron was dusted down the front with potting soil, hinting that he had been trying to revive the plant with new dirt.

"I can't find the flower index."

"Hn," Aya answered, turning away to set down his burden. To anyone else, it would have read as complete disinterest, but Yohji was not so easily fooled.

"Did you move it, Ken?" he questioned.

"Huh? No. I don't do those kinds of arrangements," the brunette defended with an anxious glance towards Aya. No doubt he was thinking that their leader was going to flip a lid if his list was missing and wanted to mark his name off the list of suspects ASAP.

Studiously hovering over his daisies, Aya didn't comment.

"Did you move it, Aya?"

"What do you need it for?" the redhead asked, turning back to face him. Ah, question for question, a technique Aya often used to deflect scrutiny. But now Yohji was prepared.

"Mika-san called. She wants a special order and I need it."

"I'll do it."

"Nah. I owe her for…well, I owe her."

A raised eyebrow.

"Look, it's special," Yohji said with pretended reluctance. "She's had a crush on this guy forever, and she's finally gonna tell him."

"With flowers?" Aya sounded dubious.

Again, Yohji was prepared. He hadn't spent all of three hours planning this for nothing.

"He's an art student. They use that flower language stuff in a lot of paintings. He'll know."

"They don't," Aya replied, suddenly engaged in the conversation. For the first time, Yohji felt like he had the man's full attention. Funny how odd subjects could interest him. "Not anymore. Pre-Raphaelites, maybe, but modern art doesn't."

Okay, that was beyond him. Yohji decided to wing it.

"That's what he studies. Old stuff. So, you know, it's kind of perfect."

There was a pause, then a slight nod.

"What does she want to say?"

"That she loves him," Yohji replied. "Kind of a confession. But she wants something different, not just roses. She doesn't want it to be that obvious. So I need the index, unless you want to help me."

Aya, it seemed, did not want to help him. There was no eager leap at his offer.

"C'mon. Either help me pick the flowers or help me look for the book," he bargained.

"I need to clean the cooler."

"Ken'll do it."

"He will?" Ken returned.

"He will," Yohji assured, "Unless he wants to talk about those daisies."

Ken did not want to talk about the daisies.

* * *

Yohji smoothed down his hair. He could feel it frizzing in the humidity of the greenhouse. Damn, he hated that.

He had followed Aya out there after insisting that none of the shop flowers would do. No, roses were definitely out, yes, even the pretty Primrose that Aya thought was suitable. The Aster was too pink. The pink zinnia, also too pink. The red Camellia was too sexy, and the red Chrysanthemum too predictable.

So, having exhausted the cooler, they had come out to the greenhouse. Yohji didn't visit it often, ever, really. It wasn't so much a personal choice as a direct threat that kept him away. The greenhouse was Aya's territory; he spent hours there, fussing over an array of plants that surprised the blonde. He wouldn't know what to do with half of them.

Thankfully, Aya seemed, temporarily at least, willing to be his guide. Somehow the redhead had found himself engaged in the pretend project Yohji had invented. If this thing didn't turn out, he might have to get one of his friends to come pick up the bouquet.

"Mistletoe's out of season," Aya mumbled, mostly to himself, as he walked along the length of one of the long tables. It was heavily laden with green, growing things. Yohji followed, careful not to touch anything.

"What's this?" he asked, picking a plant at random. It was big and had heart-shaped leaves.

"No," Aya said simply. "Here. It's gloxinia. Love at first sight."

No, Yohji shook his head. Aya put the plant down and continued on as the blonde explained.

"She wants something…dramatic. You know, it's a big secret and all."

"Acacia," Aya replied, turning to face him, "secret love."

"Uh, yeah, that'd work. Anything else mean that?"

There it was, the first telltale sign of nervousness; purple eyes fled from his and Aya began to pick at the leaf of a nearby plant.

"No," he said.

"Really?" Yohji pressed, taking a step towards him. He watched Aya chew on his bottom lip. "What about returned love, you know, like, if she wanted to put that in?"

"Returned…" Aya trailed off, studying him now, his face a strange mix of confusion and wariness.

"Yeah," Yohji said, just as quietly. Another step brought him directly into Aya's personal space, and , seeing as how he was in too deep to brush it off at this point, he went for it. He lifted a hand and brushed back Aya's hair. It was a simple gesture, but nothing like it had ever passed between them.

Yohji saw it, the very moment Aya really knew what was going on. It was marked by a widening of eyes and a sharp intake of breath.

"I thought," the blonde spoke softly, fingers lingering around Aya's face, fingertips just brushing the soft skin of one cheek. "Maybe some Jonquil for that."

Aya continued to stare at him, the wide-eyed expression seemingly frozen on his face.

"And, maybe for the secret," he smiled, "honey flower. Do you like that, Aya?"

He waited, fingers hovering over Aya's cheek as Yohji watched, fascinated, as pale skin flushed pink.

"I…I…"

"Aya!" Ken suddenly yelled from the door, causing the swordsman to jump and pull away from Yohji's touch.

"Shit," Yohji swore, turning to glare at Ken.

The brunette stood in the doorway, clearly too intimidated to come any further. In his hand, held by the scruff of her neck, was Meli.

"Here," Ken said gruffly, "I think this is yours."

Glare instantly in place, Aya pushed past Yohji. Stalking over to Ken Aya quickly divested him of the kitten, cradling her against his apron as he demanded to know what the hell the other was doing to her.

"I didn't do anything!" Ken protested, "Omi came to the shop and I went upstairs and found _that_ sleeping on my new jersy! And she pooped on my floor!"

Well, how damn romantic this was turning out to be. Yohji sighed, propping himself against the wooden table and despairing of reclaiming the moment. He watched the scene in front of him. Clearly Ken expected an apology, but, as was painfully obvious to a disgruntled Yohji, the man was barking up the wrong tree.

"Don't touch her," Aya snapped at him.

"She was in my freaking room!"

"Hn."

"Keep her in your room Aya or I'll—"

"What?" Aya cut him off, taking a step closer. Yohji was glad he was holding the kitten, because otherwise Ken would be in serious danger of being punched.

"I…I…damnit, Aya, it's my room!"

"Don't. Touch. Her."

The tone was chilling, and, after a tense moment, Ken caved. Yohji didn't blame him.

"Okay. Geeze. Alright, I won't," he convinced, backing up against the doorframe. "Sorry."

"Hn," Aya replied. He drew Meli a bit closer, then, with a glance in Yohji's direction, left.

Yohji did not feel confident. There was a lot in the look, but mostly it was trepidation. Of all the feelings he had hoped to inspire in Aya, that was not one of them. Hell, maybe he should have gone with plan B, showing up naked with a honey flower between his teeth.

Yeah, definitely should have gone for plan B.

~tbc~

Notes: Aw, Yohji needs more encouragement, or at least a new plan. Review to help him out!

^.^


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